Dreams of Tenderness
by Songstressgirl07
Summary: But I don't love anyone else," Erik said. "But you could, Erik, you could." But will he give himself the chance? EOW. Incorporates elements of the book, musical and movie. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter One: A Return and an Encounter

Chapter One: A Return and an Encounter

It had been almost three years since Erik had watched Christine Daae, the only woman he'd ever loved, sail away with the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. In Erik's own boat.

An angry mob had then gone after Erik, hoping to bring him to justice and forcing him to leave his home. Not knowing where else to go, he had sought asylum at a monastery on the outskirts of Paris. He didn't particularly care to find comfort in God (after all, how could a deity care for such a monster as himself, and how could he care for a deity that made monsters such as himself, for that matter?), but men of God would not turn away a man who needed a place to stay.

Although he had sworn to himself that he would never compose again without Christine there to sing his music, the monks would only allow him to stay if he wrote hymns for them in return. He had grudgingly kept up with his music, serving as a constant reminder of the woman he'd lost. He couldn't help but imagine how each note would sound if sung by her. It seemed that these men of God, these merciful figures who had given up the world, couldn't show mercy to a poor, unhappy soul.

After one year with the monks, renovation to the Opera Populaire had been completed and Erik decided that it would be safe to go back to his home in the cellars. He wasn't sure why, but he was drawn to that prison. Perhaps it was because everything he owned was there. He had always relished having power, and his belongings were the only things he controlled. Perhaps it was because the Opera House was the only place where he had known any kindness, any happiness. Or it might have been because the shadows of the dark and gloomy cellars were the only places he truly belonged.

No matter the reason, Erik soon found himself standing in the mess that was his home. He was rather surprised to find that little was missing. He supposed that he had Marie Giry, the ballet mistress, to thank for that. Still, the mob has seen fit to throw things about and break a few sculptures. A little clean-up was required, but he didn't mind. It occupied his mind while he tried to change the place. There were far too many memories, and the only way to keep them at bay was to end the associations. It didn't really work that well, but it made his life bearable.

Soon a problem surfaced. How was he to eat? The Phantom couldn't go back to his old tricks. People were bound to have found their way around the cellars; he would probably be discovered in no time at all if they knew he was back. He decided that he would have to sell his music under the pen name Octavian Gautier, O.G.

Erik tried to tell himself that he was making the world more beautiful by allowing others to enjoy his music, but he had a sinking feeling that he had given his children to be raped by a mob. How comforting.

His music was very successful and Erik was able to live quite comfortably, or at least as comfortably as one can when living alone five stories below an opera house.

But Erik wasn't thinking of all this as he was walking down a familiar passage, a passage he had not visited in three years. His mind was concerned with his morning paper. The morning's edition of _L'Epoque_ had announced the birth of the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Chagny's first child, Phillipe Charles de Chagny. It was a terrible blow and had been completely unexpected. That announcement dashed all of his feeble hopes that Christine would come back. He knew that she could never leave her son, nor could she bring the boy with her. She may have given life to the child, but he belonged to the father.

Besides, he wasn't sure he would take her back if she wanted him to. Somehow, he had been able to ignore the fact that husbands and wives participated in certain actions. But now that they had a child, that wasn't something he could disregard. The Vicomte had touched her, and it made his blood boil with rage.

Erik was now walking along the passage leading to a two-way mirror connecting his domain to Christine's old dressing room with the intent to sit in her room, to remember her, and to mourn her; she was dead to him.

No one had been assigned to the "haunted" dressing room since Christine left. They were still afraid of the Phantom of the Opera. That much Erik knew from his extremely infrequent excursions into the above-ground portion of the opera house. He had been proven a man, but they were still in awe of him.

So, it is understandable that he was rather surprised when he reached the two-way mirror and found the room occupied by an old piano. And a girl. A young girl. A young girl who had several pages of sheet music spread out in front of her. Erik stood there watching her for some time, too stunned to move.

This strange apparition had long, almost black hair pulled up in a tight bun. A few strands had escaped and curled becomingly around her face. Her skin was palest porcelain. Her fingers were long and thin, and her hands were so small and graceful that they seemed to be made for the piano. She also had what Victor Hugo would have described as a distinctly Parisian nose.

The girl scribbled several notes on the music. Then she began to play and sing a song the ghost behind the mirror had never heard before. Her soprano voice was strong, but gentle as she sang:

"_My cruel fate leaves me in darkness,_

_For I shall never know the light of your love._

_All that could be is gone, _

_And I shall never see the guiding starlight again."_

Erik felt thrills go up his spine. The girl had such clarity of tone, such perfect pitch! This was beauty, indeed. Something in her voice seemed to cry out to him. She sounded immeasurably lonely. Like him. Erik felt his chest tighten, as if in a vise, a sensation he had only experienced when hearing Christine. A soft moan of miserable ecstasy (the kind that could only be caused by music) escaped him, as the girl hit an E, six notes above the staff. Her voice cracked a little, possibly because she was sitting down, but at least she seemed aware of it, judging by her slight wince.

The singer stopped suddenly and made a few more notes on her music. Erik wondered anxiously if the girl had heard him. Her cheeks reddened noticeably, so he supposed she must have imagined that something unseemly was happening somewhere nearby. When she began again, Erik noticed a subtle change in the rhythm of the bass clef. The invisible vise tightened more as he realized why he had never heard this song before: she was in the process of composing it.

_With a few months of my instruction she could become a great artist_, Erik thought, but immediately dismissed the idea. He didn't want another Christine Daae on his hands. The Angel of Music's first, and last, journey into the realm of teaching beautiful, young opera singers had been a disaster. Erik had trained Christine, had fallen in love with her and had wooed her in vain. He had learned his lesson the hard way; history would not repeat itself.

Erik turned to go, but before he had taken four steps toward his underground lair, his ears were jarred by several loud, dissonant notes from the piano. He looked back through the mirror and saw the girl's slight frame shaking with tears, her head in her hands. Her weeping halted as suddenly as they had started, and the girl raised her head, her expression blank, all traces of tears gone. Unbidden, the word "mask-like" entered Erik's mind. He silently cursed himself for being so pre-occupied with his deformity and the mask that concealed it.

The girl put her sheet music in order, and then stood up to retrieve a new set of sheet music from the top of the piano. Erik noticed that she was around five feet, seven or eight inches. She had seemed rather petite when she was sitting down, so he supposed that her legs must have been long. It was difficult to tell because of the way women wore their skirts.

She spread her music out in front of her and began to softly play a piece with which Erik was more than familiar. It was one of his. He had written it many years before he'd met Christine, and it was rather simple for his pieces. It had been one of the first to go to the publishers due to its relative lack of sentimental value. Although certainly not one of his favorites, he still felt anger well up in him at her impertinence, but it quickly died when he realized that she was not butchering it.

In fact, she was doing a reasonably good job. What really struck him about this performance was the way the girl _reacted_ to the music. All of the tension in her shoulders and neck relaxed as her fingers danced on the keys. Her eyes closed, but she played just as well, if not better, than she had when they were open and following the page. Erik's composition seemed to calm her when her own had failed. He couldn't fight the smirk curling his lips at the thought. At least it helped somebody.

The girl finished and looked down at a little clock on the piano. She sighed and ran out of the room, leaving her sheet music, as if she knew no one would come in and bother it. The former opera ghost had a sudden relapse in his old curiosity. He cautiously opened the mirror, and stepped out, his pant leg brushing against the frame. His ungloved fingers left a slight smudge on the surface of the glass.

He silently stepped towards the piano. When he was close enough to touch the sheet music, he reached out and grabbed. The music wasn't exactly neat. There were blotches and scribbles all over it. It looked like she had been jotting it down in her spare minutes. At least the curling script was lovely.

A creaking sound betrayed the light step of a ballet rat in the corridor. Erik lightly put back the music, and turned to go. He began to make his way back to his lair, determined to never see the girl again.

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Danielle D'Artoi was sitting at the piano in her adopted music room working on a rather satisfying composition. This particular piece seemed to relieve her stress temporarily after every session, or at least after most of them. Today, it wasn't really working too well, but at least it was a distraction, which was all she could really ask for.

At quite an inopportune moment, she thought she heard someone, possibly a man, moan. She stopped playing, startled, and listened for a moment, correcting her music as an inward pretense for stopping. She felt a bit embarrassed that she could be disturbed by something so trivial. It wasn't as if there was anything to fear.

She started playing and singing again, reasoning that she must have heard one of the actors rehearsing in his dressing room. Danielle tried to ignore the facts that (1) the moan was far too convincing to have been made by any of the actors there, (2) that her room was too far away from the other dressing rooms to be able to hear someone rehearsing, and (3) that she couldn't think of an opera that called for a man to moan with pleasure, the emotion the moan obviously conveyed. Her cheeks burned slightly because of that last thought. After all, it wasn't as if trysts and other assignations didn't occur in the opera house, which was the most likely reason for the noise.

She was having a very good day for composing, so Danielle tried not to think about the interruption. Her inspiration was the fight that she'd had with her father the night before. The argument was about Danielle's worthlessness, as it always was.

Why hadn't she been given a leading role yet? She had been working there for more than a year now! Did she think that he had given her a good education so she could waste her life in the chorus? When was she going to make more money to support him and her brother with? Money, money, always money!

Jean D'Artoi didn't care about her, his only daughter. All of the generosity he possessed had been expended when he'd decided to keep her, instead of exposing her on the streets. And even then his reasoning had been that she might one day marry rich. All of the love her father could offer was lavished on Danielle's older, squandering brother, Luc. What he squandered his money and time on, she didn't care to think on.

So, Danielle was left with no fatherly love, no affection, and no time to pursue such enjoyable activities as parties, making friends, shopping, or falling in love with a wonderful man with whom she could gladly spend the rest of her life. No, she had to spend every waking moment trying to get a leading role in one of the Opera's productions. Of course, she didn't mind focusing on music. It was her first and only earthly love. It was also her only consolation for her lack of romantic love.

Romantic love; it all came down to that didn't it? Ever since she was a little girl and learned to read fairy tales to herself (obviously no one in the house would humor her), she had dreamed of little else. She didn't necessarily want a knight on a white charger, but she needed someone, someone different, special, or at least kind. Even now, at eighteen years old, she would still lay awake at night thinking of the man who would one day have her heart. Love was her greatest, most secret desire, a desire she feared would never be satiated.

In a sudden, overpowering longing, Danielle brought her hands down hard on the piano, the harsh chords voicing her pain far better than words. She began to weep, which was really rather odd. She didn't do so often. After a few moments of indulgence, she inwardly upbraided herself for breaking down. After all, she had intended to purge herself of her emotions with this composition, not to succumb to them.

Danielle looked up at the sheet music, her features arranged in as calm an expression as she could muster and read through the day's work. She had made some progress. She just wasn't sure about the bass clef. Something about it bothered her.

Deciding that it could wait, she began to play one of her favorite pieces of store-bought music, as her father derisively called it. It was by a reclusive composer named Octavian Gautier, who was talked about all over Paris. He was even more talented than he was mysterious. Danielle day-dreamed about him sometimes, always trying to imagine what he was like, or why he would hide himself away when all of France clambered to meet him.

Danielle felt herself relaxing as she played the soothing tune. By now she practically knew it by heart, so she closed her eyes and let it carry her away. At the end of the song, she wondered how long she had been there.

She glanced at the clock and realized that her lunch break was almost over and she hadn't eaten anything. She ran out of the room and dashed to the kitchen for a bite before rehearsals.


	2. Chapter Two: A Return to Betrayal

**Disclaimer: I don't own Erik or any of his fellow POTO charcters. I don't own the piece by Haydn, _Romeo et Juliette, Cosi fan tutte, or Les Miserables_. I only get credit for Danielle, which is still pretty cool.**

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my biggest (and only) fan, cyclobaby! Thank you for caring. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.**

Chapter Two: A Return to Betrayal

**Erik**

Erik stayed away from Christine's old dressing room from then on. If he couldn't vent his grief in solitude, he wouldn't vent it there. Besides, he'd known happiness there, behind that mirror, looking into the room. He couldn't expect to fully succumb to his feelings of anguish there, so he decided to return to the place where Christine had first betrayed him: the rooftop.

At midnight he opened the door leading out to the stars, shutting it silently. It was summer now and the air was warm, unlike that winter's evening so long ago, but he still shivered as he looked out onto that vista of stars and darkness. He walked over to the statue he had hidden behind as Christine and that boy talked of their blooming love.

Had it really been three years ago? Standing there, he could still see them with their lips pressed together. It had been her first kiss, a kiss that could so easily have been bestowed upon him. The pain he had experienced that night felt as raw and fresh now as it had then, the old wounds opening again to bleed, as if a knife were being dragged across his skin.

Erik was disturbed from his reverie by a sound near the ledge. He turned to find a cloaked woman kneeling at the edge of the rooftop. He could tell she was a woman by the long dark hair blowing in the breeze. Her head was bowed as if in prayer, which she must have been doing, judging by her murmuring. He briefly considered frightening her, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed was some frantic female screaming that she had seen, or heard, a ghost.

The woman lifted her head, and though he couldn't see her face, Erik was sure that it was the girl he had seen in Christine's dressing room. The girl began to sing; the voices were identical. The song was a Latin hymn by Franz Joseph Haydn.

"_Gloria in excelsis,_

_In excelsis Deo._

_In excelsis,_

_In excelsis Deo."_

Her voice seemed to be soaring to the heavens, jubilantly praising her creator. She sang with reverence, and yet with a joy that Erik had never heard anyone offer to God. Who was this girl who left him no peace in which to grieve? Why did she praise her God on the rooftop at all when she could easily go to the empty chapel?

And most importantly, why did he care?

For years he had been interested in all of the goings-on of the Opera Populaire. The Opera had belonged to him, and he knew every secret, every detail of every event. But now, he didn't care about anything that happened in the Opera. It was meaningless to him. So, why did he care about this one girl?

What could be gained by understanding her? What purpose did she serve? None. As far as Erik was concerned, she had no meaning, no use, no life.

Erik listened to her glorious ending and realized something: he didn't care.

**Erik**

Erik didn't know what he was doing. He had decided to stay away from that girl, had decided that he didn't care about her, but his feet kept leading him to wherever she happened to be, for a reason he had yet to discover. Within days he had memorized her routine.

Erik would watch her and wonder if training her were possible. He wouldn't fall for her the way he had fallen for Christine; that he could be sure of. He could never love another woman the way he had loved his angel. And this girl's talent was obviously being wasted. She was the best singer and actress in the company and she was singing in the chorus, for pity's sake! He knew it was foolish, but he had to try.

For three weeks the Phantom spent almost every waking moment observing the girl. She was quite right to exclaim that she was alone because she spent most of her time in her own company. Ironically, it seemed to be by choice. The male performers positively drooled over her and would attempt to accost her at every rehearsal. Especially that Francois, a tenor of mediocre talent, who believed he was the beginning and end of every woman's dreams.

One day after rehearsal, this dandified Francois had the impudence to attempt to speak with her _at length_ about a possible budding romance.

"_Mademoiselle_, really you should learn that our love is inevitable. We are star-crossed lovers. There is no way to escape our destinies. Please, grace me with your presence at dinner tonight, _mon cherie_, you won't regret it, I assure you," he purred, bringing her hand to his accursed lips, brushing then against her immaculate skin.

Erik tried to ignore the murderous rage that flared up inside him at the term of endearment the boy used and the free way in which he touched her (and the fact that he reacted with anger at all), instead focusing on the answer the girl would give.

"_Monsieur_, do you realize that the term "star-crossed" means that we are ill-fated," the girl retorted icily. "Since our relationship would only bring us pain, and perhaps death, I feel that we should control ourselves. Please, _my dear_, forget me, and love someone more worthy."

The sarcasm dripping from her voice couldn't escape Francois, as everyone watching the exchange laughed heartily at the boy's expense. Erik snorted in amusement at the color Francois's face had become, first turning from a sickly green to a deep beet-like shade. Erik was not, however, happy about the next thing she did.

She looked at the boy with melancholy eyes and said in the gentlest of tones, "I'm sorry, Francois, but it would be impossible for me to be with you in any way, and certainly not the way you want." So saying, she reached for the boy's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She squeezed it!

She was always kind, but aloof with her would-be lovers. The girl was also more than willing to help or give a word of encouragement to anyone who needed it, even those who weren't as kind to her, yet she always remained distant with the people she assisted.

The girl was an ice queen, but no one walked away with the idea that she was unfeeling. It seemed to Erik that she was brimming with love, but didn't trust herself to reveal any, for it might melt her calm facade. She was quite an enigma.

Erik also noticed that everyone addressed her as Mademoiselle, or Mademoiselle D'Artoi, except for his old friend the ballet mistress, Marie Giry, who seemed to be the only person with whom the girl regularly conversed. Marie called her Danielle.

A few days into Erik's rather begrudged vigil, Danielle D'Artoi was seated by herself in the auditorium, studying her libretto for the current production of Mozart's _Cosi fan tutte_, while he was lounging in Box Five. He was feeling rather bored, knowing that nothing new would happen in this rehearsal. Erik was just considering going back to his lair to work, when the shrewish voice of one of the louder chorus girls met his ear, a name he was very interested in on her lips.

"Danielle D'Artoi doesn't deserve to be in this opera any more than a squalling cat," she boomed, from the seat right behind Danielle. "Everyone knows that she only got into the opera in the first place because she's _Monsieur_ Firmin's mistress. It really is a scandal, you know. I feel sick when I think of how she is soiling the good name of the Opera Populaire."

"I agree wholeheartedly," declared one of the girls next to her. "Trash like her don't deserve a place on a stage so noble, or in the company of innocent girls like us. Honestly, a common, social-climbing mistress allowed a place among serious artists!"

If Erik hadn't been silently fuming at their words, he might have chuckled at the girl's bad grammar and her use of the word "innocent" to describe herself and the shrew in the seat next to her. He normally would have found her childish, jealous attack amusing if it had been directed against anyone but his future protégé, for whom he had a strange, protective feeling.

Danielle calmly turned around in her seat to face the offending faces of the offending voices, and said quite solemnly, "And isn't it odd that I never seem to get a decent role? I must not be a very good mistress. I suppose I'll have to try harder to please … whose mistress am I again? Ah, I remember now. _Monsieur_ Firmin." She turned back around to face the stage, barely concealing the smirk that turned up the corners of her mouth at the thunder-struck look the two shrewish girls were giving her, while everyone else present stifled their giggles.

_So, she's witty, too_, Erik said to himself, as he watched Danielle quell the girl's gossip. He began to have a sort of respect for her then. Most of the other female performers would have vehemently denied such an accusation, even if it were true, but this one didn't seem to mind what was said of her. Not only that, but she seemed to realize that denying it would have done her no good. She simply made the idea appear preposterous. _Clever, very clever._

Erik wasn't sure when admiration for Danielle's musical talent and respect for the way she carried herself turned to fondness, but turn it did. Perhaps it was the growing influence of hearing a beautiful voice again as she practiced for the upcoming audition for _Romeo et Juliette_ by Berlioz, or her insistence that the costumers raise the necklines of her costumes when she felt they were immodest ("After all, I'm just a chorus girl. No one in the audience will notice me, and I'd rather that the actors didn't"). It might have been the way she cried when she read the end of _Les Miserables_ by Victor Hugo, or the way her eyes would turn dark green if she was in a good mood, and light grey if bad. He soon found himself regretting each night that he had to return to his lair, wishing that he could watch the young singer for a little longer.

Eventually, Erik recognized a pattern in his behavior that he had hoped to avoid. The more he saw of Danielle, the more obsessed, he became, and the more obsessed he became, the more he had to see her. This growing fixation wasn't healthy, and was potentially dangerous (he had killed for Christine, after all, which was different entirely, he reminded himself), but he couldn't stop. Erik had so little to care for that whenever he found something he did care for, he grew possessive. He had come to care very deeply for Danielle's voice. He wanted to make her the greatest singer the Opera Populaire had known since Christine Daae, and, in truth, he _needed_ a new student. The Angel of Music needed a voice to mold into something so beautiful that the world didn't deserve the privilege of hearing it. He needed _her_ voice.

Although Erik had stalked her for three weeks, he still knew little about Danielle's past. He would need the right angle if he hoped to win her trust. The idea of becoming her Angel of Music had occurred to him, but had been dismissed rather quickly. He was Christine's Angel, no one else's.

Erik could think of only one avenue of inquiry before actually introducing himself to the girl: Marie Giry. Erik knew he could trust Marie, but he wanted to avoid detection if at all possible, so he had decided to let Marie believe that the Opera Ghost was gone for good. Now he was getting desperate. Erik abandoned his silent watch over his student-to-be for one night. He waited for Marie Giry in her quarters.


	3. Chapter Three: For Good or Ill

**Disclaimer: POTO is mine only in my dreams. Danielle is mine in reality.**

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to DancingHorse and Twinkle 22. I love reviews (coughhintcough). Please let me know if you think the action is too slow, if you want more action, more fluff, less fluff…rabid bunnies. That sorta thing. This chapter is a bit short, I know, but quite important character-wise. Also, note the name change. Danielle Olivier is now Danielle D'Artoi. I was reading the Leroux book again, saw the name, had to use it. **

Chapter Three: For Good or Ill

**Madame Giry**

Marie Giry shuffled into her small rooms at just after eight o'clock. She sank gratefully into the nearest chair, closing her eyes for a moment. She opened them to find a ghost standing before her.

"Good evening, Marie. I hope you are well," Erik said quietly, his voice as velvety as she had remembered it. Marie stared at him dumbly. "I see you did not expect to see me."

"No, I did not," she admitted, having finally recovered from the shock of finding him in the Opera again, and the relief of finding him alive. "I thought you'd never return."

"I was only gone a year. How is Meg," he asked abruptly. "I never got around to congratulating you on her good fortune. She married a baron, didn't she?"

"That is correct. She now has a little girl, Genevieve. Erik, why are you here," Marie ventured warily. "I know as well as you do that chatting about my family isn't your only reason for this quaint, little meeting."

Erik stated without preamble, "I need information."

"What kind of information," she asked uneasily. This didn't sound good.

Erik took a seat facing her and said in a slightly trembling voice, "I want you to tell me all you know of Danielle D'Artoi."

Her worst fears were confirmed, but she was still a little surprised at his interest in this particular girl. Marie had been insightful enough to assume that he would want information about a girl, but she would have thought that he would be asking after a different girl entirely. Specifically a certain blonde, Swedish former opera star.

"I refuse to help you. You should have learned your lesson three years ago", she scolded dryly.

"It isn't what you think," he rejoined, not quite meeting her eyes. "I have no feelings for the girl; I merely want to train her, to make her great."

"Erik, don't lie to me. And don't lie to yourself. You _do_ have feelings for her. If you hadn't any, you would have been able to say her name with no emotion in your voice. I know you better than you think I do, Erik."

"I won't let any feelings I may, or may _not_, have get in my way. I won't be blinded by love again. She isn't Christine, Marie."

"Take my advice and leave her alone, if not for her sake, then for yours. You'll only get hurt again."

"For my sake? I'm desperate. I need something to do with my life, and now I find the most talented performer in the company, perhaps in France, is given pitiful roles in the chorus. Do you expect me to sit idly by and watch her be wasted? Do you think that my love for music, for beauty, died when I lost Christine? Besides, I would be doing her a favor; I would be doing the Opera Populaire a favor."

To put of the decision of either crushing Erik's hopes or helping him bring Danielle into his clutches, Marie said, "The managers and the casting director tend to only cast more experienced sopranos in the leads. They also hope to make one of their experienced singers into a prima donna that would attract faithful customers, though they haven't found a suitable replacement for Carlotta yet."

"It is inexcusable. Over night she would become a star that would far outshine the screeching hens that are always cast in the leads," Erik hissed vehemently.

Marie studied Erik for a moment, thinking. He _did_ seem desperate. And she, being one of the few whom the chorus-girl in question trusted enough to confide in, knew for a fact that Danielle was frustrated that she had yet to earn a leading role. When put that way, Erik's request seemed quite reasonable, but something about the way he said Danielle's name scared her. He could deny it if he wanted to, but she could tell he felt very strongly for the girl. _He may not_ _even know it yet_, she thought. This could be a terrible mistake, but she couldn't help pitying Erik. Maybe the Phantom deserved one last chance at love. Maybe Danielle, a soul almost as bereft of love as he was, could give him that chance.

"Erik," she began, hating herself, "do you give me your word that you won't cause any more accidents, that you won't hurt anyone who gets in your way, and that you'll let her go if she doesn't come to love you?"

"You have my word," he answered solemnly.

Erik wouldn't go back on his word; that she could trust. He still owed her far too much to consciously betray her. With a sigh, Marie began a narrative she hoped would do more good than ill.

"She was born eighteen years ago in Paris to a middle-class couple. She has one older brother named Luc, who spends most of his time, and money, enjoying life, if you understand me. Apparently her father prefers her brother, the male heir, if you will. The unfortunate part is that he takes no pains to hide his favoritism or his scorn for her."

"How does her mother treat her?"

Marie had enough time before she responded to note that Erik seemed unable to say her name again for fear of betraying himself. "Her mother is dead. I don't know how long she has been dead or how she died. Danielle has always been rather guarded about the subject, so I don't press her."

Erik made an anxious gesture that Marie interpreted to mean that he wanted her to continue.

"Danielle was sent to a boarding school in the country, where she took classes in history, literature, house-keeping, dancing and, of course, music. She excelled in all of her classes, but music was her greatest talent. She had a natural inclination toward it and became an accomplished musician. Upon leaving the boarding school, she convinced her father to allow her to audition for the Opera. That was a little over a year ago. She has auditioned for a lead in every production since because her father pressures her to make more money, but she has never attained as much as a solo part. She sleeps in her dressing room because she can't afford a flat, and she doesn't want to live with her family. She chose not to live in the dormitories because she values her privacy. She has no friends, but is a very charming girl who is very dedicated to her work, and to a family that does not love her. That is all I can tell you."

"One question," Erik commanded. "I am very curious to learn something with regards to her religious activities. Why does she sing and pray to God on the rooftop instead of in the chapel?"

"She is not allowed to enter the chapel," Marie answered grimly.

Immediately bristling at this apparent slight, Erik demanded to know why she was denied admittance.

"She is a Protestant."

"Really," he asked, with a raised eyebrow, slightly off put at the girl's originality. "A Protestant?"

"Yes. Of course, no one in the company besides the managers knows this. That's why she only goes late at night."

"Then she's afraid of the stigma?"

"She isn't, I assure you," Marie answered with a chuckle. "She could have easily hidden it from the managers, but she told them quite candidly when they hired her. The managers insisted that she keep quiet, though she would rather tell everyone and try to win converts to her religion. She wasn't afraid to tell her father that she converted, so she certainly doesn't fear the rest of the chorus girls or the ballerinas."

"But why does she sing in Latin instead of French?"

"She says that Protestants don't like to sing, pray, or attend services in a language they don't understand," Marie explained. "Danielle, however, knows enough Latin to understand what she sings. She enjoys singing in Latin because she thinks it pretty. Sometimes she does sing in French, sometimes she prefers her favorite Latin hymns."

"Thank you," Erik said, rising from his chair. "It isn't much to go on, but it will be useful. You won't regret assisting me." He was out the door and in the shadows before she could reply.

"I hope I won't," Marie Giry said wearily to thin air.


	4. Chapter Four: Man and Mystery

**Disclaimer: Alas, Erik is not mine, nor is the Opera Populaire, _Romeo et Juliette_, or _Les Troyens. _I get Danielle, though, so neener-neener-neener! (sticks out tongue)**

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my new reviewer, agibail009, and to Twinkle22. **

Chapter Four: Man and Mystery

**Danielle**

Danielle began to feel rather strange in her music room. In fact, she felt strange no matter where she was in the Opera House. She felt like she was being watched, but had no idea by whom, or why. Sometimes Danielle would look up from her music, stare absentmindedly at her own reflection in the mirror, trying to think of the next word or note to use, and feel as if something, or someone, were staring back. In the corridors, she could almost swear she heard the swish of fabric, but when she turned around there was no one there. This feeling was quite unnerving.

Danielle had also begun to have disturbing dreams at night. She could hear her name being whispered while she slept. There was a recurring dream where she would find herself in am unfamiliar corridor lit by long, thin, white taper candles. She would hear her name and run as fast as she could in the direction that the whisper was coming from. She desperately needed to find the person calling her name. She would open every door she came across and look inside to find them empty, her name echoing in her head all the while. She would wake up from those dreams drenched in sweat, her hand reaching for the handle of the next door.

But today Danielle's thoughts were elsewhere; in the auditorium, to be exact. That afternoon the casting director was going to hold auditions for the principle parts in _Romeo et Juliette _by Berlioz. The most obvious motive for her continuing determination to earn a leading part was to pacify her father, but she also really wanted to play Juliette. Juliette's songs were hauntingly beautiful, and the story was one of the most romantic tragedies in history. Besides, Danielle had always wanted to have a death scene; she had a slightly melodramatic bent. For her audition piece, Danielle had settled on Cassandre's first aria in _Les Troyens_, also by Berlioz, hoping to capture the tragedy and desperation of Juliette through another medium, while demonstrating that she was familiar with the composer's style.

Danielle hurried to her music room after a very quick lunch, intending to get in another hour of rehearsal. The music room was rather grey and dusty, though the walls had been painted pink at one time. She imagined that the years of neglect had changed it considerably.

Danielle wasn't sure why it had been empty for so long. She had heard something about an Opera Ghost, but she didn't quite understand. News had reached her school about some disaster dealing with a ghost three years before, but Danielle had paid little heed to the rumors. She regretted it now because the performers who had been there at the time refused to say anything about it. Her music room was in the original part of the building, the part that hadn't been gutted by the fire involved in the "affair," and it really was quite intriguing now that she was in his supposed domain.

When Danielle opened the door, the first thing that caught her eye was a bright white spot at the back, just above the piano. The white was in sharp contrast with the dreary room. As soon as her eyes adjusted to this strange phenomenon, she realized what it was: a bouquet of roses in a crystal vase. She cautiously made her way over to the flowers, staring at them, holding her breath for no apparent reason. There was a letter beside the flowers. The intriguing envelope was outlined in black ink and it was addressed to "Mademoiselle Danielle D'Artoi." The letter wasn't sealed.

Danielle lifted the flap and took out the letter with trembling hands. It read as follows:

"_May Heaven and fortune smile on you this day, my dear Danielle. You have a talent unrivaled by any other member of the Opera, and certainly not by the sopranos that usually grace, or should I say curse, the noble stage of the Opera Populaire. You alone deserve the part of Juliette. Nothing would give me greater joy than to see you triumph in such a glorious role." _

There was no signature.

This was a rather disturbing development. Now Danielle knew she wasn't simply paranoid. Someone really was watching her. Whoever brought her these flowers knew that she would find them in this abandoned room (which she had believed nobody knew she used), and _when_ she would be there. Furthermore, he or she knew what part she was auditioning for. Her stomach clenched when she reread the letter for the third time. Was the reference to the "noble" stage a coincidence, or had he or she witnessed the incident with the other chorus-girls?

Danielle had a sneaking suspicion that her "admirer" was a he. But he whom? She couldn't think of anyone who would give her such an expensive gift, or someone so eloquent. And why didn't he take credit for the gift and flattery?

Danielle finally looked up from the puzzling letter, her face pale, her mouth agape. Her eyes landed on the mirror. Once again she got the sensation that someone was staring back at her. She tore her eyes from the mirror, bent down slightly and smelled the roses. If she was going to be scared out of her wits by some stalker, at least she could enjoy the flowers he left her.

The scent of roses was Danielle's favorite. She even used perfume with rose overtones. She lifted her head, smiling a little, though still puzzled. She sat down and started her warm-up exercises.

**Erik**

Erik watched Danielle read the note he had left her moments before. Her jaw dropped and her already porcelain hue lightened noticeably. He wondered what she'd heard about strange notes being left in the Opera House. He had hoped to soften the blow by not sealing it with his usual wax skull. After all, he wanted to get the girl's attention, not scare her away.

Erik saw all of the thoughts running through her head as if her mind were a book, opened for his perusal. Her astonished gaze traveled to the mirror behind which he stood. Danielle's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch.

To Erik's intense relief, she smelled the roses. He tried to disregard the accelerated speed of his heartbeat when she looked up again, smiling a smile that seemed more enigmatic than that of Leonardo da Vinci's _Mona Lisa_. Apparently the pleasure overrode her initial reaction of alarm. This was good, very good. He would have to bank on pleasure taking precedence over prudence **(A/N: Say that five times fast!) **if he was to continue this plan.

Erik told himself quite firmly that the roses had merely been a test and that they had nothing to do with the alleged feelings Marie had spoken of. He certainly didn't _intend_ to cause the girl happiness, but if it made her happy, so be it. The invisible vice squeezed his chest a little tighter as Danielle unconsciously tucked a lock of her gently curling hair behind her ear before she started to sing her aria. Erik leaned against the wall of the passage and listened to her, yielding to euphoria.

**Danielle**

"Danielle D'Artoi," called the casting director, rolling his eyes, as if wondering why she even bothered. Danielle took the stage and handed her audition piece to the pianist. She attempted a calming breath and nodded to the accompanist to signify that she was ready to begin her fatalistic song about the fall of Troy.

Danielle's powerful voice soared through the auditorium. She looked all over the enormous room, imagining that she was seeing the burning ruins of the ancient city. She willed herself to believe that she was looking at her beloved home, razed by cruel conquerors. Danielle gazed into the boxes on the grand tier, as though she were imploring for mercy from the very heavens. Her eyes rested on box five to her left. She was amazed to find a man seated at the front of the box on the far right with the right side of his face obscured in shadow. Her eyes met his as she sang:

"_No dreams of tenderness."_

Danielle's voice gained more desperate force and chills that had nothing to do with the joy of singing shot up her spine. She turned away and finished her song to a smattering of polite, but jealous, applause from her fellow singers, the men slightly more appreciative than the ladies. As she made her way off the stage, shaking a little, she peered furtively into box five. It was completely empty.

**Erik**

She had seen him! Leaving her flowers and a note had been risky, but practical. Going to her audition had been totally reckless. The time hadn't been right for her to see him, but Erik couldn't deny that it gave him immense satisfaction that her voice had improved noticeably by simply looking at him. This only heightened his hopes for good results from his tutelage.

He had also learned something very important from that audition. Erik had seen the exhilaration she felt when singing before an audience. So, underneath her cool exterior was a burning passion waiting to be released. He and Danielle had more in common than he had originally thought.

Perhaps he could work this accident to his advantage. He knew that Danielle was to accompany her brother to a masquerade the following night. Well, Erik had always liked those. He'd fit in perfectly.


	5. Chapter Five: Denied Truth Acknowleged

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO in any of its many forms, except for this plot. I do not own _Les Troyens_. I only own Danielle and her idiot brother Luc.**

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my most recent reviewers, Winter Rose Alchemist and Alexandria Aminta Aurelius and Artemis Amenia Aurelnius, my long lost twin.**

Chapter Five: Denied Truth is Acknowledged

**Erik**

Erik slipped into the ballroom unnoticed. He had found a very convenient window that no one had bothered to lock, making it very easy to attend uninvited. Erik hadn't seen Danielle all day and he didn't know what her costume would be, but he was rather confident that he would recognize her easily.

Not knowing what else to wear, and having little time to find anything, Erik had come in some of his normal attire, complete with cloak. The only real change was a black full mask, replacing his usual half white one. He had considered coming as Red Death again, but he didn't want to be noticed by anyone, and that particular costume was rather eye-catching to say the least.

Erik watched the door unceasingly from the other side of the dance floor. His breath caught in his throat when Danielle came into view. She was the only girl who had opted for a modest costume, no doubt a testament to her austere religious affiliation. It was a lovely sea-green cotton dress that enhanced the darkness of her green and, at this moment, laughing eyes. The dress was cut in the Grecian fashion. Her arms were bare and the bodice dipped a conservative two inches below her long, graceful neck. It was quite reserved, but somehow Erik found himself wishing she would wear a more revealing dress for once.

He also sincerely hoped that it was the three glasses of wine he'd already imbibed talking.

When Danielle lifted her floor-length skirt a little to walk down the staircase, she revealed gold colored sandals with straps weaving up her calves and tied in a bow at the back of her knee. The dress was fitted and clinging, accentuating curves that Erik hadn't realized were there. Her white mask was shaped like a bird's wings and the only jewelry she boasted was a string of small pearls. Danielle certainly wasn't the most beautiful woman in the room, a fact that Erik probably would have noticed if he still had the power to look at any other woman in the immediate vicinity…or to blink.

Erik barely noted that her brother left her almost instantly. Danielle was walking, no gliding, along the edge of the dance floor, so his thoughts weren't with any of the men in the room. In the time that he had spent studying her, he had never noticed how graceful she was.

As these completely unwanted thoughts pushed themselves to the forefront of Erik's mind, he tried to recall his purpose for being there. He had simply meant to watch her, unobserved, intervening when necessary. These masquerades were breeding grounds for romance. There was little danger of her finding a lover at the Opera House, but this was a different matter entirely. There were better men in this crowd than the roguish tenors she was usually around. He couldn't afford to let another man ruin his plans for the girl. Even if he didn't entertain any amorous notions, a lover could destroy all of the care Erik would take with her. The man would probably find out about Danielle's mysterious teacher and become suspicious, turning her against him. Besides, men had an infuriating habit of marrying the actresses they loved, and then taking them away from the stage so they could be a "normal" couple.

Erik's moving feet cut off this train of thought. They were moving him straight toward her and he was helpless to stop them. Then there was that accursed, invisible vise again.

**Danielle**

Danielle was momentarily stunned by the spinning colors and loud voices when she entered the ballroom. She and Luc, who had come as a pirate, stood at the top of the staircase for a moment, taking in the chaos. Luc immediately spotted one of his favorite tarts in the crowd and left Danielle to her own devices. She didn't know anyone there besides her brother, so she felt comfortably alone and anonymous.

_A little escape from the Opera was just what I needed_, she told herself, though the thought suddenly crossed her mind that her "admirer" might be watching her at that precise instant.

Danielle had hoped that her simple outfit wouldn't attract attention, allowing her to merely watch the dancing couples, but apparently modesty was a novelty to this crowd. Almost as soon as she was alone a man dressed all in black silently offered her his hand. He cut a rather striking figure in his cloak and mask. It seemed to her that they belonged on him, as if he wore them constantly. She was almost in awe of him.

Danielle thoughtlessly and wordlessly gave him her hand, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor, while she studied what could be seen of his decidedly gorgeous face. There was no mistaking him; it was the man in box five. He had the same full lips, cleft chin, jet black hair falling just below his collar, and to complete the picture, blue eyes that seemed to burn with a strange fire.

The man rested his left hand at Danielle's waist. He raised her left arm in his right as the orchestra began a Viennese waltz. He held her so closely that it was almost scandalous. His arms were firm, but gentle. Their faces were nearly touching.

They stayed together for several dances, neither speaking. Danielle tried to find a word to describe the way he moved. Every movement was controlled and calculated, so calculated that he seemed rather dangerous. And his eyes! They were captivating. She didn't notice that those eyes never left hers.

While pondering the mystery of her partner, Danielle was caught up in a whirlwind of her own emotions. She lost herself in the music and the motion. She felt freer than she'd felt in a long time, and for some reason her skin was tingling pleasantly.

Danielle thought she'd faint with delight when she heard the introduction of a Spanish Dance. She had certainly never been taught that in finishing school, but she had managed to pick it up since. This type of dancing was a guilty pleasure. The dance was very fast-paced and (dared she think it?) sensual. Somehow she wasn't surprised that her partner never missed a step, but she was agreeably surprised that she didn't either.

He broke the silence first and whispered in her ear, "Did you like the roses?"

Danielle's heart hammered as she replied, not knowing what else to say, "They were beautiful. Thank you."

He whispered again, "Do you like the classics?"

"What do you mean," she asked, slightly off-balanced by his random question.

"_Les Troyens_, a Greek costume. They seem to point to a love of the classics."

"I'm a siren, and I happen to adore the Greeks."

"A siren was the perfect choice. Your voice is certainly bewitching," he answered in a voice that caressed like velvet.

At this, Danielle's face turned a very becoming shade of pink. The color of her eyes deepened. "I wouldn't say that," she said calmly.

"I would. Do you mind if I call you Danae?"

"Danae? The mother of Perseus? R-ravished by Zeus," she questioned, stuttering a bit, uncomfortably aware that she was playing with fire.

"Of course," he said with an air of nonchalance, as if it weren't at all odd that he had just compared her to a woman infamous for being raped by the king of the Greek gods. Danielle stopped abruptly, pulling herself out of his arms.

"You may call me Danae if you tell me your name," she said coyly.

"You may call me Orpheus," he replied, sounding amused with his little game.

"Danielle," she heard Luc call her. "We're going."

She turned in the direction of Luc's voice to shoot him a filthy look. When she turned back, the so-called Orpheus had disappeared.

**Erik**

Erik couldn't believe his boldness, or his stupidity. He wasn't entirely sure which of the two had taken control of his body. He had not only asked her to dance, if you could call it asking, but he was holding her much closer than convention would allow. And he couldn't stop. It was much too enjoyable, though he took great care to keep his face impassive. There was something electrifying about feeling his arms wrapped around her lithe body. His heart was pounding, and he had no idea why.

After several dances, which he executed perfectly (though he couldn't help but notice her misstep during a gavotte), Erik found himself speaking. He hadn't meant to reveal that he had left her the flowers, but suddenly he found the words spilling out of his mouth.

Their conversation turned to banter. He even managed to give her a very inappropriate nickname. When she stopped and pulled away from him, he feared that he had gone too far. He was greatly relieved when she told him he could call her Danae. Then he'd gone back to a playful mood in an attempt to cover the intense surge of happiness he had experienced at this remark.

Unfortunately, her fool of a brother had chosen that moment to get himself kicked out for a drunken brawl that he hadn't even won. But Erik knew it was for the best. A few more dances and he'd have been eating out of the palm of her hand. He chose now to melt into the crowd. From a safe distance, he watched her turn around. He smirked at the astonishment on her face, feeling very smug because of his own cleverness.

Erik was sorry to see her go. Dancing with her had been a pleasure he was not accustomed to. It wasn't often that a woman wanted him to put his arms around her. The experience was more intoxicating than the wine.

Erik made his way out of the ballroom, through the door this time. He journeyed back to the Opera, keeping to the shadows, though not really thinking about what he was doing. He reached his lair without obstacle and sat down at his organ.

He could no longer deny that Marie had been right. He _did_ have feelings for Danielle, feelings that scared him. He didn't want to hope for her love, only to be crushed again. He had barely survived losing Christine; he didn't know if he could live through that a second time. He would have to be more careful in the future. He wouldn't let another woman wrap her hand around his heart, and then squeeze it the way Christine had.

_Soon,_ he thought to himself as he played one of his more haunting melodies, _Very soon._

On a sudden impulse, Erik brought his hands down on his beloved organ harder than he had meant to, just as Danielle had done weeks before. He felt frustrated and, even worse, guilty. How could he have thoughts like this about Danielle when his heart would always belong to Christine? He was betraying her!

_How are you betraying her_, asked a voice in his head.

"By thinking of another girl," he shouted to his lair.

_The way she betrayed you with the Vicomte_, the voice returned temptingly, as if it were the devil himself.

"That was different!"

_How? You loved her. You were willing to give her everything you had, including your life, and she turned to him instead. That sounds awfully like a betrayal. _

"She never belonged to me in the first place!"

_Exactly. She never belonged to you_, retorted the voice._ How can you betray what is not yours? She belongs to another man, the man she loves. You have every right to love someone else. _

"But I don't love anyone else," Erik said, almost begging the voice to believe him.

_But you could, Erik; you could. _

**A/N: In Greco-Roman mythology, Danae was a princess of some country. Zeus (or Jupiter) was deeply attracted to her, so, while she was bathing, he became a golden shower, rained down on her, and impregnated her. Danae had a son, the hero Perseus. Her father put her in a small boat with the infant and had her floated out to sea, in essence burying her. If you are interested in her fate, and in that of her son, check out _The Clash of the Titans_ with Laurence Olivier and Dame Maggie Smith. They fiddled around with the legend, but it is a pretty decent representation. **

**A/N: In Greco-Roman mythology, Orpheus was a musician who was so talented that he could move animals and rocks with the sound of his lyre. He is also famous for going to the underworld to save his wife, Eurydice, after she died. He brought her back to life, only to lose her again because he looked back at the underworld as he made his journey back to the mortal world. **

**A/N: I hope this wasn't too silly and trite. I know you were probably thinking, "Crap! Another masquerade. How Mary-Sueish!" But, you see, I do love a man who can dance, so I made Erik quite talented. And just to throw off any ideas that my Danielle is perfect coughmarysuecough, I didn't make her as good a dancer as Erik was. **


	6. Chapter Six: The Phantom Revealed

**Disclaimer: I have no rights to_The Phantom of the Opera, Romeo et Juliette, Don Giovanni,_ or the Frenchlanguage. I must content myself with Danielle,Gisele Harcourt, Ami Picard (not that you'd want them),and the plot. **

Chapter Six: The Phantom Revealed

**Danielle**

The morning after the masquerade, the cast list for _Romeo et Juliette_ was posted. To Danielle's intense disappointment, but not to her surprise, she was put in the chorus. Again. She immediately returned to her music room. Once she reached the piano, she looked through her pile of sheet music and pulled out Donna Elvira's air from _Don Giovanni_ by Mozart. She needed something to take her mind off of her frustrations.

First, she'd discovered that she had a very attractive and mysterious, though oddly unsettling, admirer. Then, she'd gotten passed over by the casting director, while Gisele Harcourt, who couldn't sing a song without improvising thirty sharp notes in every verse, received the lead. She felt that Elvira's melancholy air about her lost love, Don Giovanni, was quite appropriate for the situation.

As Danielle sang,

"_In memory still lingers his love's delusive sway,"_

she heard someone moan again. It had to be the same man she'd heard weeks before. She stopped playing and singing immediately.

Suddenly a masculine voice, a voice so terribly beautiful that it made her tremble, sang,

"_Appear, love, at thy window."_

It was Don Giovanni's serenade to Zerlina. Danielle had never heard it sung so gently, so sweetly. She was rendered breathless by its simple magnificence. The voice continued the song meant to make Zerlina love Giovanni, making Danielle forget everything else in the world as she focused on the timbre. The melody seemed to wrap around her, warming her. Two tears rolled from her eyes when the voice stopped.

"Who are you," she demanded in a strong voice that betrayed no emotion.

"Guess," he teased in an all too recognizable whisper.

Danielle's eyes roamed the ceiling and the walls, searching for a way that her visitor could sound so close, but be invisible to her. "Most people here are terribly superstitious and would say that you're a ghost, but I don't believe in ghosts. Some would say you have the voice of an angel of God, but the first thing an angel says to a human is, "Don't be afraid," which obviously you haven't said to me. No, I think you're a man, and I think I know which man. You're the man I heard moan weeks ago. You're the one that's been watching me ever since then. The one who left me flowers on this piano, the man who watched my audition from box five." Danielle murmured the words, "Appear, love, at thy window," and her eyes fell on the mirror. "You're Orpheus."

"Very good, Danae, but you're only half right," he answered, this time in a smug, rich baritone. It was impossible to tell where he was from by his accent.

"I've heard whispers," she said, continuing to address the mirror, "about an Opera Ghost."

"What have you heard," he asked, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.

"No one is brave enough to speak of the ghost, not even the ones least superstitious, but I have heard the ballerinas gasp, "The Phantom," or, "The Opera Ghost," whenever something strange happens."

"They were always too quick to blame me."

"Then you _are_ the Phantom of the Opera," she questioned, standing.

"I've been called that," he stated.

"What do you want with me," she asked evenly, rather curious to hear the reason.

"I heard you singing and playing your composition in here a month ago. I must admit that you're one of the most talented individuals I have had the pleasure of meeting. A brilliant singer, a fantastic pianist, a composer, and a graceful dancer. I'm impressed."

"I thank you for that. Judging by your voice, you must be a great artist, but surely you didn't go through all this trouble—bringing me flowers, watching my audition, going to the masque—to flatter me and congratulate me for my artistic pursuits? Not only that, but you risk detection. A man in your position must be very secretive. What do you stand to gain?"

"I knew you were intelligent, but I had hoped that you'd me more naïve," he said, sounding annoyed at the sheer impertinence she displayed by being wary where men were concerned. "I want to train you. You're voice could be seraphic if you took lessons from me. We might even manage to make your father proud of you," he added temptingly.

"How did you know about that," she asked suspiciously.

"I've been watching you very closely since the day I heard you sing. I also have good sources within the Opera."

"Why me, _Monsieur_? Why not train Gisele Harcourt, or Ami Picard? They have both played the leads in several productions. It would be much easier for them to get roles in future productions, thus making it easier for your hard work to be displayed for the public," Danielle reasoned.

"If I offered to help either of those cows, they would rant about my impudence to suggest that they aren't perfect already, and then call the gendarmes to have me arrested."

Danielle allowed herself the luxury of laughing a bit at the accurate picture her visitor painted of the two divas. However, her laughter subsided when she remembered that Don Giovanni used his serenade to try to seduce Zerlina.

"And if I consent to take lessons from you, what am I to give you in return," she queried delicately, quirking an eyebrow.

"Believe me, Danielle, I won't ask anything of you. You can trust me and my intentions. I love your voice and I want it to be heard and praised."

For some inexplicable reason, Danielle _did _trust him. His voice sounded sincere, and had even shaken when he'd said the words, "I love." She knew that accepting the Phantom's offer would be unwise, but she felt rather reckless after hearing the enchanting quality of his voice.

"Alright; I trust you. I would be honored to take lessons from you, _Monsieur_," she said with a peculiar (but not unpleasant), leaping sensation in her chest.

"You trust me," the Phantom asked blankly.

"I don't see any reason why I shouldn't. You've never done anything to me, and I've always believed in giving a person a chance."

"That is very kind of you; I'm not used to such generosity," he said, sounding very melancholy.

They made plans to meet everyday at eight in the morning.

"Are you going to come into the room for the lessons," Danielle asked.

"I will if you wish it," he answered tonelessly.

"I don't generally like speaking to disembodied voices. Not that I have often done so," she added, practically.

At that moment, the lights went out. When they came back on, the Phantom was standing a foot in front of her, next to the controls. Danielle leaped back in shock. She noticed with some amazement that he was wearing a white mask, which covered most of the right side of his face. He stepped forward with a strangely hungry look in his burning blue eyes. Once more, Danielle had the feeling that this man was dangerous. For some reason, she wasn't all that scared.

"There is one condition I must impress upon you: You must never touch my mask."

"Psyche," she whispered.

"Pardon me?"

"Psyche," she said out loud. "You reminded me of Cupid and Psyche. Cupid loved Psyche, but would only visit her in the dark so she wouldn't know he was a god. You claim to love my voice, but, like Cupid, you refuse to let me see your face."

"Just remember," he warned, "that when Psyche became curious and saw Cupid by lamplight, she almost lost him forever."

Danielle nodded to show that she agreed to his terms. With that, he turned the lights off again and disappeared into the darkness. She realized with a jolt that she still didn't know his name.

**Erik**

As soon as Erik reached his underground home, he threw himself wearily into the chair at his writing desk. Act One was over, but it hadn't been easy. He had expected her to figure out who he was quickly, but he hadn't foreseen that she would connect him to the Phantom of the Opera. He was just glad that she hadn't heard any of his exploits as the Phantom.

Erik had to admit that it was a relief to know that he wouldn't have to lie to her. He had felt like a heel when he told Christine he was the Angel of Music. Of course, at the time he hadn't meant to fall in love with her. It had happened over time, and he'd been in love before he'd known it. With Danielle, he could be himself.

Erik was struck by the sudden realization that she had compared him to the god of love. He smirked as he thought, _Psyche loved Cupid even though she couldn't see him._ Of course, Cupid was a god who had gone to Psyche and made her believe he was a monster. He, Erik, was a monster who had gone to Danielle in the guise of a god. He just hoped that his warning would be taken to heart. If she saw his face, she would never want to see him again. He couldn't let that happen. He _wouldn't_ let that happen.

Tomorrow, after their first lesson, Erik planned to start construction on her bedroom. When he was finished, he would ask Danielle to live there. It would be much safer if they had their lessons there. He just hoped that he could convince her that he wouldn't take advantage of her, which would probably be the first thought that came into her head when he made this proposition. But maybe she would learn to trust him by then.

Erik made a mental note to board up Christine's room. He didn't think he could handle the thought of anyone else using it. And eventually the swan bed would have to go, though he wanted to find something equally as striking for Danielle's room.

There was one nagging question in the back of Erik's mind: Why was he so nervous about bringing her here?

**A/N: In some versions of the story of Cupid and Psyche, Psyche is a Thracian princess. At her birth, it is prophesied that she will one day be carried off by a monster. Psyche was very beautiful and very famous, enough so to make Venus, the goddess of love and beauty, jealous. She sent her son, Cupid (god of love), to shoot Psyche with one of his golden love arrows and make her fall in love with some wild animal. Cupid went to do his mother's bidding, but fell in love with Psyche. He carried her off and told her that he was the monster she was fated to marry. He only let her see him at night, so Psyche became curious about her husband. One night, she brought a lighted oil lamp to the bed where he was sleeping. When she saw him, she was so surprised that she dropped the lamp, burning his ankle. He left her, and she was forced to wander the world searching for him. They were finally reunited and Jupiter, king of the Roman gods, gave Psyche ambrosia, making her immortal. **


	7. Chapter Seven: On Salvation

**Disclaimer: I don't own Erik, Madame Giry, or Christine's dressing room, though that would be awesome. I merely own Danielle. **

**A/N: I said that I wouldn't update again until I got ten more reviews. I got five, which is more than I have gotten on any single chapter before, so I'll compromise. This is Christmas, after all. So, Merry Christmas to everyone who is reading this story and to my five reviewers to whom I dedicate this chapter: Twinkle22, Ameonna, Alexandria Aminta Aurelius and Artemis Amenia Aurelnius, phantomofthemsical, and lady-demacabre.**

Chapter Seven: On Salvation

**Danielle**

Danielle started her lessons with Orpheus, as he called himself, the next day. He had started off by enumerating all of the things she did wrong when she sang, followed by a much shorter list of all the things she did right. His main goal was to improve her control. Her voice, he said, seemed to have a mind of its own.

Orpheus started her on several new warm-up exercises because, he claimed, the ones she used already were terrible and a complete waste of time. He also gave her a few simple pieces for her to master before switching to something difficult. All of the pieces, she noted, were extremely melancholy.

Once he was gone, Danielle would contemplate her strange teacher. Why did he wear that mask? And of all things, why a half-mask? Why did he only give her heart-breaking songs to learn? Why did he refuse to tell her his name? Why did he occasionally look around the room with great despair and pain in his eyes when he thought she wasn't watching?

Danielle could only assume that there was something about the Phantom's face that he was desperate to hide. She couldn't possibly see why he only wanted to cover half of his face. Wouldn't one half be as easy to recognize as both? As for the room they were in, Danielle wondered if one of its previous occupants had meant something to him. In that case, apparently things had not turned out well. Of course, she wasn't about to ask her teacher for answers to any of her burning questions. Somehow she didn't think he would like to answer.

A few days into their lessons, her teacher had begun to correct her posture and would constantly tell her to sing from her diaphragm. When he said this, he would get up from the piano, which had been mysteriously tuned when she arrived for her first lesson, and would grip her shoulders with his hands (which Danielle noticed were very strong), then would pull them back to make her stand up straighter. Sometimes, he would put one hand over her abdomen and make her sing a cappella to check that she was doing it correctly. Then when he had reassured himself, he would sit down again and tell her to sing it just like that from then on.

Danielle thought that all of this was rather redundant because he only made her stand up a fraction of an inch straighter and she never changed her technique when he felt her diaphragm. She began to wonder if this was merely a pretense for touching her. She even went so far as to playfully accuse him of this after a couple of weeks of lessons.

"I do not only do that to touch you," her teacher protested. "It is very important that you have proper posture and that you learn the correct techniques. And we'll have no more insinuations to the contrary." Despite this angry declaration, she thought she saw a shadow of a smile flit across his face as he walked around her and adjusted her shoulders, lingering a little longer than was necessary. Danielle could have sworn she heard him sniff her hair. What an odd man!

Regardless of this (and sometimes she wondered if it was because of it), Danielle soon began to feel more comfortable around her teacher. At first she had been a little afraid of him, but less than a month after her lessons had started, she found herself looking forward to these daily visits. She even laughed gleefully when he, one morning, tried to impress her with his remarkable ventriloquism abilities as she made a brave attempt to continue singing. First it sounded like he was whispering in her ear, then it would sound as if he was standing in the far corner of the room, and finally his voice hovered above her near the ceiling. The Phantom, of course, didn't move his lips at all.

_Orpheus_ finally exclaimed, his voice in his throat again, "What, may I ask, are you laughing at?"

This was asked so seriously that Danielle cracked up completely, while he looked on in mock-annoyance. They resumed the lesson only after her laughter was under control, though the smile it brought to her face refused to leave.

After this particular lesson, Danielle ran into Madame Giry, the ballet mistress, whom she held in high esteem. They had just exchanged "Good afternoons," when Madame Giry said unexpectedly, "Do you like your new teacher?"

Danielle, caught off guard, replied, "Yes, I do. How did you know about him?"

"I'm a friend," she said mysteriously. "I'm glad you two are getting along well."

Without waiting for a response, Madame Giry continued on her way. Danielle marveled at this new information. Well, at least now she knew what the Phantom had meant when he said he had good "sources" within the Opera. He had the most intelligent ally the Populaire had to offer.

**Erik**

Erik became accustomed to haunting Marie Giry's quarters. The subject they discussed most often was Danielle. He didn't feel quite comfortable about asking Danielle personal questions, so he just asked Marie, whom she seemed to like.

On one occasion, Erik had asked Marie why Danielle never seemed interested in the actors. Marie said, "I suppose it's because she wants love, and she doesn't think that any of the actors can give her that. Danielle thinks that they are simply immature boys, who are incapable of appreciating a woman, yet. She won't settle for anyone who doesn't truly love her."

"Good," he murmured to himself, lost in his thoughts.

"But she may not necessarily fall in love with the _first_ man who loves her."

"We've had this discussion before, I don't have feelings for the girl," he retorted wearily.

"I don't believe you for a minute."

"Neither do I," Erik admitted. "Marie, do you think there is any chance at all that she could care for me?"

"I'm not sure, Erik. If you behave, you might just have a chance," she told him with a small smile.

"She could save me, Marie. I know I would be a fool to try again with her, but I have to believe that there is hope for me, wretched, repulsive monster that I am. I need a friend. But what right do I have to so much as speak to her? She's beautiful, talented, intelligent, and kind. I don't deserve to be near something as pure as Danielle," he said, sounding more guilty and miserable than Marie had ever heard him, and though he believed that he was fooling her with his charade that he didn't want her love, Marie knew Erik's heart.

"Erik, if there is any woman on this earth who can love you, Danielle is she. She can look past your face and see the man, the genius, who looks through those eyes. Danielle knows that there is more to a man than how handsome or ugly he is. I know that, at heart, you are really a good man. She is the woman I think most likely to appreciate that."

"But can she accept my past? Can she accept the fact that I'm a murderer? That I kidnapped a woman? That I tried to force that woman to marry me? She'll have to learn the truth, eventually. I don't want to lie to her, Marie, or keep secrets from her. If she decides to give me a chance, I want her to know what she's getting herself into."

"Do you really care for her that much," she asked, astonished that he could be so selfless.

"Since I've begun training her, Danielle has become very dear to me," he answered evasively.

"I asked Danielle a few days ago if she liked her new teacher," Marie said, hoping to gauge his reaction.

"And," he demanded, holding his breath.

"She said that she did."

Marie heard his barely audible sigh of relief. Erik got up to go.

"Erik, try to take things slowly with the girl. She needs time to fall in love."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said noncommittally as he walked out into the corridor.

**Danielle**

A couple of months after the lessons began, Danielle went to her music room at the regular time, but instead of her teacher, who was always waiting for her, she found a note written in his handwriting. It said,

"_My Dear Danae,_

_Please forgive me for missing this lesson, but it was impossible for me to attend. Please be so good as to meet me here at ten o'clock tonight. _

_Respectfully yours, _

_Orpheus_

Danielle opened the door to her music room at ten on the dot, but her teacher wasn't there, at least not in body.

"Good evening, Danae," his voice greeted her. "There's something I want to show you."

"What do you want to show me," she asked, playfully suspicious.

"A surprise."

"That was a completely unexpected response," she muttered sardonically. "_Where_ is the surprise, then?"

"Underneath the Opera house," he answered as if he had just given her a clever riddle to solve.

"Underneath—." She couldn't finish her sentence because at that moment the mirror slid away to reveal her teacher standing in a candle-lit stone passageway, leading down into the bowels of the Opera. "Orpheus" reached out a gloved hand, beckoning her to take it. Danielle grasped his hand, and they began their descent.

**A/N: Please, tell me if you think the pace is too fast, if there's too much filler, if there's not enough filler, if the story needs more angst, if it needs more fluff, etc. Do I need any more characters? One new character will appear within the next few chapters, and then more will come later on. Not really sure when, though. Anywho! Merry Christmas, my dear friends! May you all get many interesting gifts and plenty of mistletoe! **


	8. Chapter Eight: Persephone

**Disclaimer: I don't own Erik, the Opera Populaire, or France. I think that if I had my choice of the three, I would choose Erik hands down. At least I own Danielle. I am reasonably proud of that. **

**A/N: I wanted to reply in this chapter to several comments/questions made by my lovely reviewers. Since I'm not allowed to use specific names (Am I allowed to dedicate chapters to certain reviewers, I wonder?), I decided to have this special section. I hope you all remember what you asked me. **

**While several writers believe that Erik would be driven, by the loss of Christine, over the brink of insanity, I thought that, since it was his violence and desperation that drove her away, he might become less violent and controlling. You might say that it shocked some sense into him. Especially after that "true distortion" remark in the musical, if you prefer to think of this as based on the musical. There will be some Leroux elements in this story. They will come into play very soon. Never read Kay and, from what I've heard of it, I never will. **

**Erik hasn't exactly given into his feelings for Danielle…yet. He still hasn't realized how much she means to him, though he sees the potential of loosing his heart. There is also the handicap that he feels so very unworthy of her. For all of his genius, he is quite oblivious to the fact that some women can love a man despite his many faults, physical or otherwise. But fear not! He will come around soon. **

**Several of you mentioned that my pace was fine. Thank you. I have been rather worried about it. I don't want my Erik to seem fickle, though I did give him three years to let his feelings for Christine diminish, as well as her memory. **

Chapter Eight: Persephone in the Underworld

**Danielle**

The Phantom led Danielle down a twisting path to the lake. She felt as if they were miles below the Opera, which could very well have been true. Everything was so quiet that she could hear the sound of her chilled breath. She tried to stay within the light of the Phantom's torch so she wouldn't get lost as they went farther than she had ever imagined the cellars of the opera could go. Danielle's rather adventurous spirit was itching to strike out on her own and explore this dark and mysterious underground kingdom ruled by a man clothed in legend. She didn't succumb to the temptation because her more rational side told her that it would be very unwise to do so, and because the irrational side of her wanted to stay as close as she could to the ruler of this dark kingdom.

There was a little boat waiting for them at the edge of the lake. Orpheus helped her get in and climbed in behind her. He started to pole the little gondola through the black water and the mist.

This journey was intensely surreal. So this is what Persephone felt like when she was being led to the underworld by Hades. This thought, mingled with the bizarre situation she was in, made Danielle wonder idly if she would ever leave the cellars. She wouldn't have been very surprised if she discovered that she couldn't. It certainly seemed like a possibility in her current surroundings, though the place didn't seem oppressive. In fact, she felt quite free and easy.

Danielle swiveled around to take in all she could. She glanced up at her mysterious teacher, and her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't spent much time with him in the dark, so she really hadn't expected this new revelation. The Phantom's eyes glowed gold in the dark. Danielle had heard in her youth that a werewolf's eyes glowed yellow on the night of the full moon. She had, on more than one occasion, gotten the distinct impression that there was something lupine about this man's gaze. This golden color his eyes now held only increased this notion.

At long last, they reached a sort of cave, which Danielle's teacher obviously inhabited. She saw an area with a writing desk, an organ, and several closed doors, leading to other rooms. There was also a massive pipe organ surrounded by lit candles. _How fitting_, Danielle thought. _He would certainly choose the most powerful instrument in the world. _

"This," he said, helping her out of the boat, "is my home."

"It's beautiful," she said breathlessly, very aware that she was gawking at everything in turn.

It really was beautiful. The light of the candles reflected eerily off the swaying water and seemed to dance over every surface. There were red velvet wall-hangings that expressed their owner's passionate nature far more adequately than the delicate and ornate furniture.

"Would you like anything to drink," he asked politely. "I have wine, tea, milk, water. If you want anything else, I would be happy to procure it."

Danielle stifled a giggle when she wondered how he would go about procuring anything he didn't already have at this time of night, but she supposed she didn't want to know. "I never touch wine," she told him primly. "Water will do, thank you."

Orpheus went through one of the doors, which apparently led to the kitchen. While she waited, Danielle was left with a bit of a dilemma. He hadn't asked her to sit down. Since he was master of this house, it would be impolite to sit without his permission. But then again, it was impolite not to ask his guest to have a seat. She couldn't imagine that he would really mind, so she chose a comfortable seat next to the organ, even if it wasn't the most mannerly thing to do.

The Phantom came back carrying a two glasses, one filled with water, and the other with a dark reddish liquid. She had been staring at the water and didn't notice him at first. He cleared his throat and her head jerked around to face him. She noticed with some surprise that he had a very smug expression on what she could see of his face. He looked like the cat that ate the canary.

"Your water, mademoiselle," he said, handing her a glass.

"If I drink this, will I have to stay here forever," Danielle asked sardonically.

"I don't know. Let's find out," he answered coolly.

_A challenge_, she thought. She drank it all in one gulp. The Phantom now looked like the cat that ate two canaries.

He sipped his drink thoughtfully, and finally said, "I have something to ask you, Danielle, something that may make you believe that my intentions are not completely honorable, though I assure they are."

"I believe you," she said, surprised to find that she actually meant it. "But what could you ask of me that would make me believe otherwise?"

He walked over to the other side of the organ. He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. When they came, his words were gentle, almost tender. "I brought you here to ask you if you would like to live here."

"With you," she exclaimed with surprise.

"Yes, with me," he said a bit drearily, mistaking the surprise in her voice for alarm, or disgust. He went on hurriedly. "You would have your own bedroom and bathroom. I give my word that if you agree to stay, I will never set foot in either as long as you live here and that you would be perfectly safe with me."

Danielle considered her teacher for a moment. He seemed quite nervous. _Not the face of a seductive villain_, she thought wryly. "For how long?"

"For as long as you like. You would, of course, remain in the employ of the Opera Populaire. It would be easier to continue our lessons down here," he added. "That's why I decided to ask you. I'm never particularly safe in the above-ground levels of the Opera House."

"Before I give you my answer, may I ask you something I've been wondering since I first met you," she ventured.

His nervousness clearly deeper, he said, "You may ask, but I am not bound to give you an answer."

Danielle walked up to him and looked into his fearful blue eyes. She asked softly, "What is your name?"

He was so relieved that he gripped the organ for support. He returned her gaze and said, "Erik. You may call me Erik."

"Is that not your name then," she countered, noting the different phrasing he used.

"I chose a long time ago to leave behind the past that to which my true name belongs," he told her sadly. "My name is now Erik."

Danielle smiled at him warmly and said, "I'll only stay with you if you play something for me, Erik."

She went back to her seat, while Erik sat down at the organ. When Erik began to play, Danielle was introduced to music unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was powerful and haunting, painful and breathtaking. She wasn't sure if the music was a curse or a cure. It seemed to Danielle as if the whole world were crying along with Erik and his organ.

Danielle suddenly understood him, understood why he had brought her to his home, why he had given her lessons. It wasn't really because he wanted a student he could train far away from doors easy to open. It was because he was terribly lonely.

**Erik**

The song ended on a note of utmost despair. Erik looked up to see her reaction and was alarmed to see her staring at him as if she'd never seen him before, her breathing rapid and her wide-open grey eyes glazed over. Fear gripped him. He expected her to scream, faint, run away, or call him a monster. He watched helplessly as she got up and stepped closer to him, as if in a trance. Erik froze in horror as she lifted her hand toward his face.

_This is it_, he thought. _Just like Christine._

After all, he had known this would happen eventually, although he'd managed to convince himself that Danielle might have been different. He hadn't learned his lesson and now he was going to be stabbed through the heart again.

To his surprise, she simply smoothed back a lock of hair, which had fallen over his face while playing. Erik felt a strange longing as her fingertips brushed lightly against his skin. He hadn't known the touch of another human being in so long; he'd almost forgotten what such warmth felt like. He wanted her to touch his face again, just for a moment, but she sat down again and waited for him to continue.

"Perhaps you will like my next song. I wrote it for you." Erik started to play an enchanting, but rather romantic tune. This one spoke of hope and of a renewed sense of life's beauty. Erik risked a few glances at Danielle throughout the song. She watched and listened with tears in her eyes. He thought he noticed a flash of longing in those green rings as the music swelled, but he knew better than to believe it. It could only have been his imagination, wishful thinking.

Erik knew that he was baring his soul to her and when he stopped, he looked up at her shyly and said, "It's late. Would you like me to show you to your room?"

**Danielle**

"Yes, please," Danielle said, standing up. She felt oddly weak and needed to lie down.

"This way," Erik told her. He led her to a door near the writing area. "This room is yours. Mine is the door on the other side of the organ."

Danielle opened the door and stepped inside. Erik turned up the gaslights from the doorway, not setting foot in the room as he'd promised. The carpet and walls were a wintry creamy color and the large bed, to her left, had burgundy satin covers. There was a lovely vanity table against the wall on her right, and a door leading to the bathroom on the other side of the bed. There was a large, mahogany wardrobe directly across the room.

Erik slipped something into Danielle's hand, turned to go, and quickly closed the door behind him. She looked down at what he had given her and found that it was a brass key. She didn't lock the door. She knew he would keep his promise; he wouldn't come into her room. She did, however check all the mirrors in her room and bathroom. Just as a precaution. Finding them all to be perfectly normal, she tried on a white nightgown she found in the wardrobe. Danielle tried not to wonder how he had gotten her measurements as she turned off the lights and climbed into bed.

**Erik**

. Erik was in a state of great agitation. He paced up and down his lair, occasionally stopping to stare at her bedroom door. To think that Danielle D'Artoi, a woman, was right behind that door…in a nightgown! And he hadn't heard the lock click. It was almost impossible to believe. She trusted him. She actually trusted _him._

Erik sat down to try to read a book, but no matter how many times he read the same paragraph, he couldn't absorb a word of it. He tried to work on his music, but his thoughts kept straying to Danielle's bedroom. _No_, he told himself severely. _You promised that it was hers and that you would not go there; you cannot let your mind invade her privacy. It isn't right to think of her…of her bedroom…of her sift skin and hair. Dear God in Heaven, why did she have such a hold over his mind? _

With a sigh, he opened the door to his bedroom, closed it behind him, and sank onto the little bed. This was going to be a long, sleepless night.

**A/N: I am so glad to be able to use Erik's name whenever I focus on Danielle's perceptions. I was getting really tired of interchanging titles like "Orpheus," "The Phantom," and "her teacher." It got a little annoying. **

**A/N: Did anyone notice the reference to the _Princess Bride_ by William Goldman? I got it the book for Christmas. It is so funny! The reference was the "wintry cream" bit. In the book, Buttercup is described as having skin like wintry cream. I'm not really sure what that would look like, but I thought it was an interesting idea. **

**A/N: In Greek mythology, Persephone was the goddess of springtime. She was out picking flowers one day when Eros (the Greek version of Cupid) shot Hades, who happened to be near for some strange and random reason, with a love arrow. (I mean, what's the god of the Underworld doing in the world of the living anyway? Enjoying the sunshine?) Hades kidnapped Persephone and took her to the Underworld to be his queen. When they reached the Underworld, Hades offered her a pomegranate to eat. This was a trick because, unbeknownst to Persephone, anyone who eats or drinks something from the Underworld must stay there forever. She only ate half of it, so she was allowed to spend half of the year with her mother, Demeter (goddess of agriculture) and the other half with her husband, Hades. In Roman mythology, she is known as Proserpina, Hades as Pluto, and Demeter as Ceres. **


	9. Chapter Nine: A Seed

**Disclaimer: I don't own Erik or anything that obviously belongs to someone else, such as _The Magic Flute_ or _Robert le Diable_. I gave credit where credit was due for those in the story where the credit really belongs. As a consolation prize, I do own Danielle D'Artoi. The song that Erik sings in this chapter contains my humble lyrics. I'm sure that he would do a better job, but you work with what you have. **

**A/N: I have to make a special shout-out to angel-lover elysian for giving me such a great review and for recommending me to her friends. **

**A/N: If you review, and you would find it offensive if I dedicate a chapter to you, or give you a shout-out, please tell me so. I don't want to offend any of my readers. **

**A/N: I am also celebrating the fact that I have gotten more than 20 reviews thus far. I have also gotten more than 1000 hits! Yayness! A new chapter for everyone to celebrate how cool you are!**

Chapter Nine: A Seed

**Danielle**

There was a beautiful sound somewhere. Danielle didn't quite know what it was. Perhaps it was a dream. The music, for she was now able to positively identify it as music, was gently pulling her out of her slumber. She opened her eyes to find herself, not lying on a lumpy couch in her dressing room, but in a soft, warm bed. Danielle groped about in the dark for a few moments and located a lamp on the table beside the bed. She lit it with a hesitating hand, and the room was immediately illuminated. She caught sight of the vanity mirror and everything came back to her.

She had been taken, in the middle of the night, from her music room, through the mirror, down into the lowest part of the opera house where Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, dwelt. _Where she had agreed to dwell_. She was suddenly feeling light-headed. Had it really been a good idea to consent to live alone with a man she knew little about, far away from any other human being? Despite her head's logic, Danielle's heart trusted Erik. He had shown her nothing but kindness and respect for as long as she had known him, which was an admittedly short time.

Danielle bathed and raided the wardrobe again, choosing an outfit that matched her eyes at their darkest green.

When she finally ventured out, Erik stopped playing and turned around to face her. He seemed to freeze, his muscles tensing, at the sight of her. Little did she know that she looked positively enchanting in the candlelight.

Danielle stepped lightly towards him, trying to avoid the papers scattered all over the floor. She noticed with some embarrassment that he wasn't dressed as flawlessly as usual. He wore an open white shirt and a loose black robe. Danielle tore her eyes away from the exposed chest, looking, instead, into his eyes. She realized too late that they weren't any safer territory. He really did have amazing eyes, no matter what light, or lack thereof, they were in.

Erik's calm voice startled her when he asked, "Did you find your bedroom satisfactory?"

"Of course," she answered with a laugh. "It's a palace compared to the dressing room I've been sleeping in for the past year. It's even more comfortable than my room at home."

"I'm glad you like it. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to inform me. I wish you to feel at home here."

"You're incredibly thoughtful, Erik, but I couldn't impose upon you," she told him. She moved to the chair she had occupied the night before, blissfully unaware that by doing so, she had established a niche for herself.

"There would be no imposition."

There was a short pause, neither really knowing what to say. Danielle decided to keep the conversation on comfortable, distracting topics.

"What exactly do you do to amuse yourself here?"

"I have several books and I enjoy art," he said, "but most of my time is spent with my music. I play the organ and the piano as you have already seen, but I also play the violin. I compose almost every day. We will, of course, be continuing your lessons."

"Then I doubt I shall ever be bored," she assured him.

This statement was quite true. Erik brought down all of her possessions, including the piano. Once she got back from rehearsals, they would have a lesson, dine, and then take turns playing and singing to one another, much to the delight of both. Danielle was also able to continue her compositions. She found that in the presence of Erik's genius, melodies were coming much more easily and more beautifully.

**Erik**

He was playing one of his most despairing compositions. Erik had lost something very dear to him, or perhaps he was about to lose it. He was coaxing the soft melody out of his violin with such a mournful tone that demons would have wept had they been privy to his secret wretchedness.

But wait! It wasn't so secret. His pupil was standing in her doorway, bathed in glowing light, listening to him. There was pity in her grey eyes, a heart-breaking pity for him. That wasn't what Erik wanted from her. He wanted her passion, her love, her soul. He wanted her all, not scraps of feeling. He desired nothing more or less than to inspire her every thought.

Not taking his eyes off of her, the music issuing from his instrument glided into a different piece, and a different emotion, entirely. Danae's head jerked upward, and her eyes widened in shock as she recognized that emotion: lust. She moved forward as her reaction changed to that of intrigue. Erik stopped only when her face was inches away from his.

"Why are you here," he breathed.

"I have to be here, Erik," she whispered with a coy smile playing about her tempting lips.

"You're not making your purpose any clearer, my songbird."

"I need to be here with you, near you. I can't stand it any longer," she said, suddenly sounding tormented. "I've seen the way you look at me. I know how you feel. Well," she continued after a slight pause, as if she were bolstering her courage, "I feel the same way about you, Erik. I need you to be more than my friend or my teacher. Hold me," she pleaded.

Erik was more than happy to oblige. He moved behind her and gently slid his arms around her waist. It felt so good to hold a woman again. It had been so many years since he had shown a woman that he was a man. Erik buried his face in her hair and sighed, "I need you, too, Danae."

She said in a low, seductive tone, "I'm yours."

Erik turned her around to face him. He had never felt so much bliss after hearing two simple words before. He tightened his grip with one arm and allowed the other hand to slide down to her hip. He could feel her arms rise to his neck. Danae brought her lips to his for one searing kiss and then –

He woke up.

The dream had been longer than usual. It normally ended with either him holding her, or her whispered, "I'm yours." Erik felt sick at this, his betrayal. Danielle was his student. She trusted him, and he was having naughty fantasies concerning her! Besides, he was at least thirty years old; she would turn nineteen in two month's time. He had seen much of the world, while she had never set foot out of France. Danielle was wise beyond her years, yes, but she was an innocent in the ways of the world.

How could he continue to face her everyday when thoughts of her lips distracted him?

**Danielle**

It was announced two weeks after Danielle took up residence with Erik that auditions for _Robert le Diable_ by Meyerbeer would be held later that month. The managers had still not discovered a suitable replacement for their last diva. It was nothing short of distressing. Until they could find a new prima donna, they would simply have to hold auditions for every production due to their lack of a contracted leading lady.

Erik assured Danielle that by the auditions, she would be ready to take one of the female leads, probably Alice, Robert's innocent foster-sister, who saves Robert from Satan, his father. They began working on Danielle's audition piece, The Queen of the Night's aria from _The Magic Flute_ by Mozart.

Erik and Danielle were both thrilled at the improvement she made daily. When they sang duets to pass the time, it seemed to Danielle that their souls, as well as their voices, were creating harmony. It was as if their spirits were mingling through their shared song. It was an intense sensation that confused and scared and pleased her all at once. Danielle really couldn't believe her luck. Why would she be so blessed as to work with Erik? When she prayed, she always added her thanks for her time with him.

The night before the _Robert le Diable_ auditions, Erik was confident that the part of Alice was hers, but Danielle was extremely nervous. She went to bed early at his behest, but she only lay awake for hours, waiting for the dawn, while dreading it at the same time. The lengthening hours grew tedious. Erik had decided not to work so that he wouldn't disturb her, but it was just too quiet. She had gotten used to hearing him at work and missed it. When Danielle felt that she would go mad, she left her room, still in her nightgown and a light robe.

"Trouble sleeping," asked a cool voice to her right. It was strange how that voice still sent shivers up her spine after so many weeks hearing it. She turned toward the voice. Erik was at his writing desk, looking up at her with his one visible eyebrow raised.

"My stomach is filled with butterflies. I think they're in my chest, too," she admitted. "Every time I think of the auditions, I get restless, and I think I'm bound to fail. I just know I'll forget something you told me to do. I may forget _everything_ you've taught me completely," she said, sounding panicked. _And_, she added to herself,_ you'll be so disgusted that you'll never want to see me again._

"You won't fail, or forget. You have a rather astounding teacher, you know," Erik said with a smirk. "And your teacher has a very remarkable student," this time with more warmth than Danielle had ever heard him use. She felt herself getting red in the face.

"I hope you're right," she said shakily.

"I'm always right."

"Modest, too," she answered with a giggle.

"Is there anything I can do to help you sleep?"

"Well, there is on thing," she muttered shyly, not sure how best to continue. "But it's stupid; you wouldn't want to."

"What is it?"

"Would you sing me to sleep? Please?"

Apparently he hadn't expected such a request. His eyes became very round before saying that he would. She didn't notice that his perpetually unruffled voice didn't sound quite so composed as usual.

"Oh, thank you, Erik," she said gratefully, opening the door of her bedroom and walking in. "Come in."

Erik moved to the door, but hesitated at the threshold. Seeing his reluctance to enter, Danielle called from the bed, which she was sitting on, "Please do it in here; there's nowhere else for me to lie down."

He finally walked in and over to the bed. Danielle moved to the middle and invitingly patted the spot she had just vacated. Erik took a seat next to her, suddenly very aware of how hot his face was. Danielle casually pulled his arm up and around her shoulders.

Then Erik began to sing. Danielle immediately recognized the tune as the song he had written for her. He had never sung her the lyrics.

"_Come, my love, heal my broken spirit._

_Come to me and let me have your heart._

_Show me how to live and love again._

_Come to me and never let us part._

_I'm yours, so just let be near you._

_That is all your fond servant needs._

_If you listen closely, you will hear it._

_The beating of my heart for thee._

Danielle closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of Erik's arm, and voice, wrapped around her. The last thing she heard as she was growing sleepy was his soft voice. The last thing she thought was, _If only it were true._

**Erik**

It was amazing how much torture he would have to suffer. The gesture of asking him to sing her to sleep was sweet, but forcing him to sit on her bed and hold her was the worst of unwitting cruelties. How could she know how much he longed for her? How could she realize that he would kill for one kiss? How could she understand that his feelings for her, feelings he did not want, were always standing by to flame up and grip him? His fragile heart couldn't take this type of punishment. He could hardly breathe as he began singing.

As the song flowed around them both, he willed Danielle to believe his words. He was more sincere than he had ever been.

When Erik finished the song, he looked down at the head resting on his shoulder and saw that she was sleeping peacefully. He gently disentangled himself from Danielle's sleeping form, careful not to wake her. He knelt by her bedside and gazed at the sight before him.

He loved Danielle. He_ loved_ her. Even after swearing that he would protect his heart from all females everywhere for the rest of his life, this girl had, without meaning to, without comprehending it, sown a seed of love in his heart that was now flourishing. How could this have happened? And after he had known her all of three months! It had taken him years to fall in love with Christine, but, of course, that hadn't happened until she had grown up a bit. He hadn't realized that his feelings had become anything but that of teacher for pupil until she had turned fifteen. So how had his fondness for this girl become so deep in so short a span of time?

The answer came quite easily, actually. Erik had fallen in love with her – no, come to love her – because of the smiles she sent his way, because of the gentle words she used with him, and because of the endless hours he spent searching her soul through her voice, her face, and her words. Erik's own efforts, as well as Danielle's natural kindness, had chipped away at his defenses. She treated him differently than any woman had ever treated him before, so he must have been doomed from the start. There was nothing left but to admit defeat. Danielle had won whether she knew she was playing the game, or not.

Erik allowed himself the luxury of reaching out and caressing her warm cheek. Danielle squirmed a little in her sleep, pressing her face to his hand. He reluctantly stood up and crossed to the open door. Before he closed it, he distinctly heard her whisper one word: Erik. That was nearly his undoing.

Back in his own bedroom Erik began pacing and arguing with himself. Did he dare to hope for her love? Had she fallen asleep because of his voice or because his arm had been around her at the time? Had she taken comfort from his _voice_ or from his _presence_? Surely it was simply his voice. But, then again, she _had _whispered his name.

Erik spent hours meticulously examining every detail of the five or six minutes he had spent with Danielle, trying to find any hidden meanings in her words and actions that could justify the hope attempting to blossom in his chest. He only succeeded in sending his head spinning. He would have to be patient and wait for any evidence that would support or disprove his suspicions. Until then, Erik would enjoy the memory of that one night, that one moment in time.

**A/N: Well, Erik has finally admitted his true feelings for her, if only to himself. As they say, admitting you have a problem is the first step. Not that it's really a problem, but it will seem that way to Erik for a while. **


	10. Chapter Ten: A Protector

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera in any way. If I did, the song "All I Ask of You" would be banned in context, but that is a different story. I don't own the Persian, either, which is disappointing because he is one of my favorites. I do own Danielle, though. **

**Three cheers for the Persian! **

**A/N: I am celebrating today. I have more than 30 reviews and more than 1500 hits. I am on 11 favs lists, 15 alert lists, and I am in 2 c2s. Thank you all for being so supportive. You all rock! **

Chapter Ten: A Protector

**Danielle**

Danielle woke up the next day and was a little disappointed that she was completely alone in her bedroom, though she mentally denied it. It's not as if she had expected him to stay or had wanted him to stay. That would have been singularly ungentlemanly of him. Erik was certainly a gentleman. She bathed, dressed, and then sought out her teacher. It didn't take long. All she had to do was follow the sound of organ music.

And there was Erik, working as usual, dressed as usual, with his back to her as usual.

_You see, everything is completely normal_, she thought, ignoring the fact that, after his usual greeting, he seemed to eye her more furtively than was typical or necessary.

Nevertheless, his voice betrayed no emotion when he asked, "Are you ready for your moment to prove everyone else wrong?"

"Not at all," she answered truthfully. "But I'll do my best to make you proud of me."

"Good," he said. "If you do your best, you can't fail. I'd hate for all of our hard labor to come to nothing."

"I think the only way I'm going to be able to sing at all when the time comes will be to remember you during the song."

Erik didn't answer, but turned away to hide the unnatural blush creeping over his features.

Danielle did think of Erik during her audition and sang perfectly. Who better to inspire her when singing as the Queen of the Night than the king of the night? The last notes of her song were greeted by the cheers of everyone in the room, and, though none could hear it, the whisper of the word "Brava" echoed several times from the darkness surrounding Box Five. Danielle felt that her eyes must have been such a dark green that they were nearly black.

Erik looked very proud when he met her in their old music room. Danielle threw her arms around his neck in her excitement. She closed her eyes and simply enjoyed their closeness for a moment before pulling away, a bit embarrassed that she had ignored his personal space in such a way. She didn't want to appear forward. Danielle gazed into his eyes, silently begging for his approval.

"You sang excellently today, Danae. Only a fool would refuse to give you a lead after that spectacular performance. I know you will soon shine for all of France."

Danielle smiled at the pet name he had given her. She used to feel that it was a little risqué, but now it just seemed to fit somehow. She had even started calling herself _Danae_ in her own head. She also smiled at the compliment Erik had paid her. His approval had come to mean more than her father's.

They went back home and had a celebratory dinner. Unbeknownst to them, someone was very close to their home.

**Erik**

After singing a few duets, Erik thought that it would soon be time for Danielle to retire. It had been an exciting day for both of them, and she needed her rest. The cast would be announced the next day, and she would probably on edge. It would be torture to go through the wait if she weren't well rested. Unfortunately, just as he was about to suggest this very course of action, the most insufferable human being in the country, no on the planet, landed on their shore in a little wooden rowboat. Danielle, of course, had no idea who this dark-skinned personage in the long frock-coat was, but Erik knew him all too well.

"Daroga," he shouted as the Persian clambered out of the boat. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"I came to see if you were still alive, Erik. It's been a long time since I heard from you," the stranger retorted.

"I don't want you here," Erik said.

"Well, I _am_ here, so there's very little you can do about it," he said, apparently unhindered by Erik's rudeness. The Persian finally caught sight of Danielle. He continued apprehensively in his native tongue, "Who is this young woman, Erik?"

"This," said the Phantom, following Nadir's example, giving them a language barrier and, therefore, some privacy, "is my student, not that it's any of your concern."

"Anyone you hurt is of my concern; you know that. You became my concern when I saved your life," the Persian spat at his old "friend."

"I have no intention of hurting her, Daroga. You should know that," Erik snapped.

"You may not have any intentions of hurting her, but that doesn't mean that you won't cause her pain in some way," Nadir sighed.

"She is perfectly happy here with me. She is also perfectly safe," Erik growled. "I would like to hear that from the lady herself," the Persian said evenly.

"Very well," Erik said in French. "Daroga, this is my student, Danielle D'Artoi. Danielle, this is an old acquaintance of mine, Nadir Khan."

"It is an honor to meet you, Mademoiselle," Nadir said, taking her hand.

"Please, Monsieur Khan, call me Danielle," she told him with a charming smile.

Nadir looked to Erik for approval before responding. When Erik nodded for him to speak, the former daroga said, "Then you must call me Nadir. After all, we should all be friends here." Erik snorted sarcastically. Without missing a beat, he continued, "Danielle, how did you come to know Erik, if I may ask?"

"He found me singing in an abandoned dressing room and asked if I would allow him to give me lessons. I couldn't refuse after hearing him sing," she replied with another coy smile. "It was all just like a fairy tale. Like having a fairy godmother, of sorts."

She and Nadir both found Erik's subsequent glare highly amusing. Nadir was impressed by the girl's bravery. Anyone else would have been killed for such a statement, him included. The girl, however, was not only immune to the Trap-Door Lover's threats; she knew that she was.

Erik broke in, "Nadir and I have much to say to each other, I'm sure. Perhaps you should go to bed now, Danielle."

"Oh, but we never have visitors, Erik. I am anxious to learn more of Nadir," she pleaded.

"I'm sure you will in time," Erik assured her. "Now that he knows there's a pretty girl here, we won't be able to get rid of him." _Which is quite true_, Erik thought ruefully. _He'll constantly pester us about the "danger posed by my attentions."_

"Then I'll leave you two gentlemen to talk. Good-night, Erik. Good-evening, Nadir," she said as she headed for her door.

Once they were finally alone, Erik and Nadir retired to the drawing-room. Erik took a seat in his favorite armchair and gestured for Nadir to do the same. The former daroga merely stood in a disconsolate sort of way, his shoulders sagging.

The Persian asked solemnly, with a hint of fear, "What is she doing here?"

"You know very well what she is doing here. She is taking voice lessons," Erik said evasively.

"There is more to this story than either of you are telling me. I also have a feeling that there is a great deal more to the story than the girl is aware of. I want a very detailed explanation of why you are living with a beautiful young _female _singer. If you have no intentions of hurting her, what intentions do you entertain?"

"I heard her singing one day in Christine's old dressing room. She was writing a song, actually. I heard her singing on the rooftop a few days later. I decided to offer my services as an instructor. She accepted. End of story."

"Does she know who you are, what you've done," Nadir asked desperately, walking about the room.

"She knows who I am," Erik returned, ignoring the second half of the Persian's question.

"Does she know that you are a murderer? A torturer? Does she know about the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Chagny? Erik, you can't keep her here without telling her what kind of man you are."

"She will know when the time is right for her to know."

"You mean once you have hypnotized her to such a degree that she won't care about your past?"

"I am not hypnotizing her," Erik said indignantly.

"Then what are your intentions," he demanded once again.

"I intend to make her a star," Erik answered sharply.

"Are you telling me that you have no romantic interest in the girl," the Persian asked dryly.

"That is exactly what I am telling you," Erik lied. "Do you think that I'm stupid enough to try to woo another woman? Only a fool would make such an attempt with a face like this one."

"You have no feelings for her," Nadir asked, coming to a halt directly in front of Erik's chair.

"Of course, I have feelings for her, you dolt. What man wouldn't? She's intelligent, beautiful, talented, and extremely kind. Because of those attributes, I can't imagine troubling her with my fondness for her. She doesn't deserve the pain of knowing that a monster thinks of nothing but her." He ended despairingly. "I care for her too much to hurt her like that."

"Then why keep her here?"

"Because I want her here."

"Does she want to be here?"

"I'm not forcing her to live with me if that's what you're asking," Erik said stiffly. "She can leave whenever she wishes to leave. She understands that. Furthermore, she didn't have to come here in the first place."

"Is the girl innocent, Erik?"

"Is she _what_," the Phantom shouted, rising angrily.

"Have you taken any liberties with her?"

"Of course not, Daroga. Danielle is perfectly innocent. If I had taken any "liberties" do you think that she could stand to look at me? Do you think that _I_ would be so cruel?"

"I shouldn't have mentioned it, I know. I just worry about you sometimes and, consequently, about those around you. You don't always keep your self-control, especially where your heart is concerned." He paused. There was a question he felt was nearly as important as his last, but potentially more dangerous to pose. "Is there anyone else in Danielle's life," the daroga asked delicately.

"She has a father and a brother. She also has one friend, Madame Giry, the ballet mistress."

"That's not what I meant, Erik. Has she any suitor?"

"None that she would seriously consider marrying," Erik scoffed.

"How do you know?"

"There are a few actors who wouldn't mind spending a pleasant night with her, but she wouldn't do such a thing. No one else has given her a second glance."

"But there may be several men vying for her attentions once you've made her a star," Nadir reasoned. "What happens then?"

"Daroga, you tire me," Erik said wearily. "I insist that you leave me to my peace. I also insist that you don't confront Danielle alone. It would be very dangerous for you if you did." _And for me_, he thought.

"I can't leave you alone, Erik, and I certainly won't leave the lady alone. I am responsible for your actions since my misguided pity is the reason that you weren't destroyed years ago. I won't rest until I know that she and those she cares about are in no danger from you."

"She doesn't need a protector, Nadir. She has me for that."

"That isn't a very comforting thought, Erik," the Persian said as he climbed back into his rowboat.

Soon Erik was left to his thoughts. What would he do if Nadir told Danielle too much, too soon? What would Danielle do? It made Erik nauseous to think of the things Nadir could tell her, would tell her, given the chance. His situation suddenly seemed much more complicated than it had this morning.


	11. Chapter Eleven: To Stand in the Light

**Disclaimer: I own not the Phantom of the Opera, nor do I own _Robert le Diable_ by Meyerbeer. I own Danielle, which is comforting. **

**Three cheers for impossibly long chapter titles that don't fit in the box. Yay! **

Chapter Eleven: Two Are Given Chances to Stand in the Light

**Danielle**

Danielle woke up feeling queasy. The cast list was due to go up that very day, at the end of rehearsals. It was now 8:00, which meant that she still had nine hours and two meals to go before she would know her fate. How would she survive the day? Even if she got a lead, there was no guaranteeing that she would live long enough to find out.

Danielle got out of bed, suddenly restless as well as ill. She just had to stay busy. That was the only way to stay sane. Erik was, of course, out and about already. She wondered absent-mindedly if the man ever slept. He probably had breakfast prepared, though she wasn't sure that she'd be able to keep it down. That would be just lovely. Danielle could just see herself throwing up all over Erik's beautiful home, soiling his music compositions right in front of him. How could he resist her charms after that?

_Stop it_, she shouted in her mind. _He's not the least bit interested in you. You're his student, his pupil, his protégé, his admirer – no, not that. _She sighed, fully aware of the fact that she had no control of her mind, or her emotions. There were some things that just couldn't be changed, her deep attraction to her intriguing benefactor for one.

He possessed all of the traits Danielle liked in a man. He always wore black, a color that flattered even the plainest of men. On a brilliantly handsome, albeit intriguingly masked, man, black was practically sinful. He was polite, courteous, and chivalric. Erik made her feel like a lady at a court. In his lair, she was special, set on a pedestal, granted that he didn't want her as his lady fair. He didn't seek to control her, and he didn't think less of her because she was a woman. Erik really had every right to believe that he was her superior, but he treated her as an equal. He was a genius; she was a simple, country girl, though no fool. And of course, Danielle admired a man with talent, a gift that overflowed from Erik. Yes, he certainly had a lot to offer a girl like her.

Unfortunately, Danielle wouldn't have been able to take anything Erik offered her, if it came to that. She owed a huge debt to her father, who, no doubt, would do his very best to marry her off to some rich, old widower, knowing that Danielle wouldn't refuse. Not after what she had done to Jean D'Artoi. If he asked for her head on a silver platter she'd say, "So be it."

All of these thoughts were running through her head when she met Erik at the table. By then she had completely forgotten her original trouble, so he misread the clouds hanging over her head.

"Are you nervous about the cast-list, Danae," he asked her gently.

"What," she muttered, distractedly. "The cast-list?" Remembering, "Oh, yes. I don't know how I'll be able to pay attention during rehearsals. Sometimes I wish I hadn't gone into this business. I don't like the worry."

"Then why did you want to become a performer," Erik questioned, trying to understand Danielle better. After all this time, she was still a mystery to him.

"Well, partly because I had dreams of glory, partly because I thought I would enjoy it, partly because I felt that God wanted me to bring beauty to the world, and partly because I wasn't really fit for anything else," she answered.

"What do you mean? Marie told me that you had been educated."

"I was, Erik, but I am still a girl. Because of my sex, I can't get a job that requires education. My education was meant to serve no other purpose than to culture me and make me more desirable to a prospective upper-class husband. I could possibly have been a school teacher, but that," she paused, "is doubtful."

"Why," Erik asked, perplexed.

"Because I'm a Protestant," she retorted with a smile at his naiveté where matters of religion were concerned. "No one wants a heathen teaching their children. That's why I left school in the first place. I was expelled when my religious persuasion came to light."

"Just because you were a Protestant? Because you felt differently than they did," he asked indignantly.

"Yes. I could have stayed had I repented my grievous sins," Danielle granted with a mirthless laugh. "I didn't."

"Why did you convert in the first place," he ventured with increased respect for a fellow outcast.

"The Catholic Church didn't satisfy me. Or at least the doctrine I had always been spoon-fed didn't," Danielle added fairly. "From the time I was a young child, the priests, my family, everyone I knew, painted a picture of a wrathful God. A God that believed me to be wicked, a God that would punish me for being human. In other words, they believed in a God that punished me for being what He made me to be, though they didn't phrase it in such an unjust fashion.

"One day, a Protestant minister came into the town near my boarding-school. I was sixteen and I thought I deserved to go to Hell for all of my sins. I wasn't really sure what they were," she added with a giggle, "but I thought they were numerous and evil. This minister was preaching about a God who loved all of his children, though he let some suffer trials. He told us that God allowed those trials to come into our lives because they would shape us, make us better people. He said that God wanted us all in Heaven and was prepared to let us in if we only believed in Him, His son, and Christ's sacrifice for our sins, and if we pledged to let Him guide us for the rest of our lives.

"I thought that this man was a miracle. For the first time in years I felt at peace. I felt that all my sins had been crucified along with my Lord. I told that minister that I wanted to be baptized a Protestant and devote my life to the service of this merciful God he spoke of. He baptized me in the river that very day, and I sang praises to God for weeks afterward."

"Have you ever regretted it," Erik asked, already sure that he knew the answer.

"Not once in the two years since I was reborn."

Several hours later, Danielle was fidgeting with her watch. In a few minutes time, she would know. Would she finally get the chance she craved, or would she have to resign herself to another few weeks in the chorus? What she was most afraid of, in the event that she didn't get a leading role, was Erik's reaction. Would he give her up as a lost cause? No, surely not. She hoped. And she prayed. There was little else to do.

Finally, Monsieur Reyer dismissed them all. Danielle was shaking as she made her way to the door to the managerial office. That was where her destiny would be fulfilled.

There was a huge crowd. Everyone was jostling the person closest, trying vainly to get near the list on the door. People were standing on the very tips of their toes, which the ballerinas were executing to perfection. Danielle was not pushy by nature. She preferred to merely wait her turn, though people less respectful than she had often made her wait far past her turn.

After a few minutes of dread, most of the cast had gotten their parts and left, chatting with a friend or bragging to a rival. The way was finally clear. Danielle merely had to take a few more steps, and then she would be close enough to see. She didn't dare look until she was right in front of it. Her eyes began, pessimistically, at the bottom of the list. She obviously wasn't in the costume department. She wasn't in the set department. She wasn't in the ballet. She wasn't in the chorus; that was a good sign. She wasn't playing one of the men's roles. Her heart was pounding by now, and her palms were sweating.

And there she was. The name "Danielle D'Artoi" was right next to "Alice, soprano, foster-sister to Robert". Her first thought was, _There must have been some mistake. I can't play a lead. I have no experience. I might faint on-stage. _That was certainly what she felt like doing at that exact moment.

Madame Giry had been watching the whole thing with keen interest. She was at Danielle's elbow in a minute, in case she did just that.

"Well," the ballet mistress whispered in her ear, "Your instructor should be pleased, my dear. I'm sure he will want to hear the news, so hurry to him, Danielle."

"_Oui_, Madame," Danielle replied faintly. Without another word, she did as the older woman instructed. She headed straight home to Erik.

**Erik**

Where was she? She was late! Had something happened to her? Had she been accosted by another one of those annoying actors? What could be keeping her?

The sound of very slow, plodding footsteps could be heard coming down one of the many secret passages to Erik's lair. This was the one that Danielle used when he did not accompany her to, or from, rehearsals. But surely these heavy footsteps could not belong to his light, airy, graceful Danae.

Erik was readying himself to receive this unwanted intruder when Danielle came into the light of his parlor. She went straight to a chair and plopped down in it. She was in a daze. Erik couldn't imagine what had prompted this reaction from his usually happy, though reserved pupil.

"Danae," he said loudly. No response. "Danae," he called louder still. "Danielle D'Artoi, pay attention when I speak to you," he finally shouted.

Danielle lifted her head, as if noticing Erik's presence for the first time since she had entered the room. "It's about the cast-list, isn't it," he asked gently, tenderly, kneeling beside her chair. She nodded once, looking past him at the wall. "What part did you get, Danae? Was it the chorus again?" His eyes flashed dangerously. The managers, the casting-director, and Reyer were fools if they thought it was wise to stifle Danielle's talent. His brilliant mind was beginning to devise malicious ways to get back at them all when Danielle's head shook from side to side. "What part did you get," he repeated.

"A-Alice," she stuttered, sounding lost and confused. Her head finally came down a bit so she was looking him in the eyes. A smile crept over her face as she said it again. "Alice. I am to play Alice, Erik."

Erik felt triumphant. His pupil, his _beloved_, was going to shine soon. The world would see her at her best, her most innocent. Her voice would, in a matter of weeks, sing its way into the hearts of the Parisian upper-class. People would come from all parts of France to hear her. She would entertain the wealthiest men and women in the country.

Erik's thoughts were interrupted when Danielle, once again, threw herself around his neck. This time she was crying. He was a little awkward. He had comforted a sobbing female only once. That had been the day that Marie had lost her husband, Jules. Erik rubbed Danielle's back and made soothing noises in her ear, praying that her tears would dry soon. He really didn't mind feeling her body pressed against his chest, or her head in the bend of his neck, but he hated it when a woman cried, especially if she was dear to him.

"Why are you crying," he crooned. "There is no reason for tears."

Regrettably, Danielle pulled away to face him with a watery smile. She looked adorable, even when her eyes were red and swollen.

"I'm so happy, Erik," she choked out. "I've never felt like I belong anywhere but the stage, and now I'm going to be in the spotlight. And it's all because of you," she whispered, hugging him again. "And God," she said quickly, lest she seem ungrateful to her creator.

"Surely you had some part in it, Danae," he murmured.

"I couldn't have done it on my own, Erik. I know; I've tried. Many times. How can I ever thank you," she asked suddenly.

"You don't have to," Erik assured her, finally letting his arms fall away from her. "I only request that you sing for me."

"I sing only for you and God," she whispered, as if he should have realized that by now. Erik could only swallow nervously and help her up.

Why did her every passing statement sound like a declaration of love? Why was his heart forced to take these beatings? Why did he need her so badly?

That was easy enough to answer. Danielle was wonderful. She was the most caring individual he had ever met, or at least the one who showed him the most kindness. Not counting Marie, of course. Marie had saved him, had fed him, and had helped him in a million different ways. She had also feared him. He couldn't say that about Danielle, at any rate. That was where the difference between Danielle and every other woman in his life truly lay. She didn't fear him at all. She had given him a chance, knowing that the very thought of him petrified everyone else in the company. That was why he loved her. That was why he needed her love so badly. That was also why he couldn't take it by force.

**A/N: Yay for the fluff! Isn't Erik so sweet? I just love my Erik so much right now. He is a bit high-strung when it comes to this reading between the lines thing. If only he could see the forest through the trees. **


	12. Chapter Twelve: Fault and Debt

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Phantom of the Opera_, or _Robert le Diable._**

**A/N: I did this while I should have been doing my AP Latin Literature homework. If I fail, I blame you! Anybody else out there doing Distance Learning Latin? I hate internet classes. **

Chapter Twelve: Fault and a Debt That Must Be Paid

**Danielle**

Rehearsals for _Robert le Diable_ began two days later. Danielle's private lessons with Erik intensified. He was determined to secure Danielle's place as the new prima donna of the Opera Populaire. After her stunning performance at the gala in one month, Danielle would be welcomed with rave reviews and thundering applause. All he had to do was get her ready. All she had to do was get used to the idea that soon all of her dreams would come true.

_Well_, she thought sadly, looking at Erik over dinner one night, _perhaps he won't make _all_ of my dreams come true._

Danielle's task was daunting, to say the least. Suddenly she was to have an aria, solo parts, and attention at rehearsals, attention during the performance, and even more time with Erik. Not that she really minded spending more time with him. It was just a little distracting, and she was always a little afraid of doing something foolish like drool over him, or blush when he said her name, or faint. All she really wanted was to please him, not make him run from her as if she were the plague. Erik was her best friend, not to mention her fondest dream.

More time with Erik invariably meant more time with Nadir Khan, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why that would be. But she liked Nadir, so she wasn't complaining. This odd foreign man was very interesting and quite nice. Danielle respected the calm wisdom and gentility she saw in the depths of his green eyes. He was more than a little refreshing after Erik's sullen fits and quick temper. Nadir was almost fatherly in some ways. He seemed to genuinely care about her in a manner she wished her father would display.

At the moment, Danielle was anything but pleased with her father. Two days after she had sent him a letter explaining her big news, she received a letter from Jean D'Artoi that made her blood boil and freeze at the same time.

**Erik**

Erik was in the study, writing a note to his publisher, when Danielle brought in a letter. She greeted him with a smile, took a seat, and reached for the letter opener on his desk, a lovely souvenir from his time in Persia. It was ivory carved in the shape of a scimitar with gold filigree in the blade. She quietly sliced through the envelope's flap. Erik could see that she was very excited about the content's of the letter. Her hand was shaking. Irrational suspicions flew through his wary mind. There wasn't anyone in her life now, but what if there had once been a sweetheart, another Vicomte de Chagny?

Erik knew that something was amiss as soon as she started reading the letter to herself. Danielle seemed severely shocked by the contents. Her face went from white to an angry red in seconds, and her eyes began to tear up. The lines of her face were set rigidly when her head finally rose.

"Is something wrong," he asked worriedly.

"Here; read this," she muttered, thrusting the offending document into his hands.

"_Danielle,_

_I am glad to hear that you have finally decided to make yourself useful. As you know, you owe your brother and me quite a debt. You will now have a chance to repay a little of what is due to me. You say that you will be earning fifty francs a week as opposed to the regular twenty. I have allowed you to keep five of those francs. I will raise your allowance to seven francs a week, as an incentive for you to work harder in the future. In your next letter, be sure to tell me when you will start earning more money. _

_Jean D'Artoi_

"This is all your father has to say to you," Erik exclaimed. "No 'congratulations?' Not even a 'thank you' for the money you send him every week?"

"No, Erik," she said, her eyes glistening with tears of hurt feelings and indignation. "Father thinks I'm worthless. Besides, he need not thank me for the money. I owe it to him, just as he says."

"Why do you owe him anything," Erik asked cautiously. "What is this 'debt' he speaks of?"

Danielle's shoulders fell a few inches, and she bowed her head before she looked up at him. "I assume that, when you were pumping her for information, Marie told you that my mother is dead." It wasn't a question.

Erik nodded his head, a little ashamed at her frank description, as well as her knowledge of his "sources." "She told me that your mother was dead, but she didn't know how."

"I haven't told a soul how she died," she continued. "It's not really a secret. Plenty of people outside my family know about it, but I'd rather not speak of it. You see, some people might blame me for her death. My father and Luc certainly do." She paused, collecting her thoughts and, perhaps, her strength. "She died the day after I was born. Complications of child birth. Bed fever, or something like that. I am beholden unto my father because I took away his wife. I am indebted to my brother because I took away his mother. They both loved her dearly. I don't think they were what they have come to be before her passing. I suppose that her loss changed everything, including their capability to love."

Danielle sighed heavily. Her eyes were on Erik, but he knew she couldn't see him.

"Neither of them has ever forgiven me for her death," she said emotionlessly. "Father has always been cold and, at times, cruel because he resents the fact that I lived, instead of the woman he loved more than anything, or anyone, else. My brother only wants to use me for his own gain. He gets that from his papa." She paused. "That's what Luc calls him, papa. I have to call him sir."

"You aren't to blame for your mother's death, Danielle," Erik said firmly. "You had nothing to do with it. There's nothing you could have done."

"Erik," she retorted wearily, "I am the reason that she is dead. If I had died, Father would have gotten over it. He wouldn't have become the ruthless shell of a man his is now, and he wouldn't have turned Luc into such a depraved ne'er-do-well. They would have been happier if I had never existed. The world, itself, would be a lot better if I had never been in it."

The tears were finally spilling over now. Erik considered trying to make her feel better, but her last remark had sparked his ire. He roughly pulled her chin up so he could look into her swollen, blood-shot eyes.

"What makes you think that the _entire_ world would be better off without you," he spat. "_My_ world would certainly be worse without you in it."

Danielle stared at him uncertainly for a few moments. Erik wasn't sure if he had frightened her with his sudden burst of anger, or not. He couldn't imagine what she was thinking or feeling right now. He had enough trouble with that on her good days.

"D-Do you mean that, Erik," she quavered, suddenly timid.

"Of course, I do, Danae," he said, more gently this time, and forcing his hand to leave her face. "My life is meaningless if I have no one to share my music with, no one to teach. I would be miserable without you here. I was filled with despair until I met you. Now, I feel that I have a purpose again."

Danielle smiled at his words. He couldn't imagine why they meant so much to her. He supposed that she needed to be needed as much as he did. Perhaps every human wanted to touch someone else's life and make it better. Yes, that had to be it. Surely, she didn't want to touch his life specifically. Ideas like that only led to disappointment.

**Danielle**

Danielle couldn't agree with Erik, though she did appreciate his kindness. He was wrong: she was to blame for the death of Adele D'Artoi. She regretted her own existence, and she always had. Or at least since she'd found out how her mother had died.

Danielle had suffered greatly from her father's apparent loathing of her. Her child's brain was unable to comprehend why her father reprimanded her so often. Father would shout at her everyday, even if she hadn't done anything wrong. It wasn't fair, and it hurt her feelings. His outbursts scared her, too. He even hit her sometimes, and always over the most insignificant offenses. She wanted desperately to know what she was doing wrong so she could make it better.

One day, when she was five years old, Danielle asked her father what she had done to offend him. That's when she found out exactly how her mother had died. That's when she was faced with the awful truth that she had killed her own mother. That was the beginning of years of self-loathing. She knew that she had been born under an evil star, a star that marked her as a bringer of unhappiness, a curse upon those she loved. At five years old, Danielle had wished she were dead. That feeling was not to change until she was sixteen when a pastor showed her the light.

That was the real reason that she was so fervent in her faith. For the first time in her life, she had been at peace with the fact that she had been the cause of her mother's death. She still felt that she was responsible, but, thanks to Jesus, she didn't have to pay for it. Not in Hell, anyway.

Danielle knew that she could withstand the accusations of the world as long as God didn't blame her. Come what may, she was a child of God, the One who forgave all the sins of the repentant. His was the only opinion of her life that mattered…except that of her father, brother and, now, Erik. It had always stung that her family had not seen fit to forgive her, but Erik didn't care. He didn't think any less of her knowing that her mother's life had been forfeit at her birth. Danielle really couldn't have been more grateful to Erik if he had made her the reigning queen of the artistic world. No one had ever forgiven her after hearing the truth before him. It meant more to Danielle than she could say.

And he had told her that she meant everything to him. Did he really mean what he said? Could he…

_No! _Erik had only wanted to cheer her up. His words didn't imply that he cared more for her than a teacher would care for a student. He was trying to show her that her life wasn't worthless, not that she was _his_ life. Danielle couldn't let her imagination run away with her. Erik was a man (and what a man!), while she was just a girl.

**Nadir**

The former daroga of Mazenderan was sitting in his study pondering this strange development. He could scarcely believe that Erik would fall in love again. And of all people, who did he choose? Another young soprano, another student. When would Erik learn? What was he thinking?

Nadir frowned at the Persian carpet at his feet. What was the girl thinking? Did Danielle D'Artoi have any idea with whom she was dealing? Did she realize that she was living with a murderer? If she did, he couldn't imagine her trusting him. But even if she didn't know anything about Erik's past, surely she would have seen the lack of wisdom in her decision to stay with him?

There was only one thing for him to do: warn the girl somehow. Like it or not, Nadir was responsible for the monster. He would have to risk Erik's wrath for the sake of the girl. He couldn't let another ordeal like the one with Christine Daae occur. Erik would have to be stopped. Unfortunately, Nadir was at a loss of how best to continue.

**A/N: This was the hardest chapter to write. It took me two weeks to get it this good, though that isn't saying much. It was important, so I persevered. Now we know why Danielle doesn't have much of a spine where her family is concerned. Would you call this chapter fluff? I'm not sure what to call it. Getting her feelings hurt by her dad again, and recounting her bitter memories of religious persecution, probably didn't make Danielle's day very good, but I'm sure being held by Erik, and then told that she was his reason for living, improved things a bit. I know I'd stop crying if he told me that. **


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Feeling Feverish

**Disclaimer: Is it me, or does it seem like these were designed to rub salt into my festering wounds? **

Chapter Thirteen: Feeling Feverish

**Danielle**

Things were not well in Paris. Danielle may have been living quite happily and comfortably in her haven underground, but in the city illness threatened all. Influenza was raging through the streets, killing the old, the young, the weak, and the strong. Many had died in the four weeks since Danielle had begun preparing for her debut, and many more would follow them to the tomb. She prayed everyday that none of her loved ones would suffer the malady.

One day in rehearsals, Danielle was speaking with Guillaume Aubriot, the tenor playing Robert, about the fatalities. The Populaire was minus two stage-hands and a cellist already due to the epidemic. Apparently, the managers had been considering postponing the opera because of the spreading sickness, hoping that allowing the performers that didn't live in theater to stay at home would prevent any further ingress of influenza.

This is exactly what the managers finally did two weeks before the date set for the gala performance. One of the ballerinas had come down with influenza, and the prognosis wasn't good. Danielle was relieved. Erik, on the hand, was furious.

"In two weeks you would have been the toast of Paris, and they do this to us," he shouted to the lake when she brought him the news. "In two weeks all of our plans, our work, our dreams would have come to fruition! Now we have to wait for weeks, maybe months to see this through."

"Erik," Danielle interrupted, "it's better this way. Attendance has been cut severely since the epidemic broke loose. Once the show goes on, people will be ready for an escape," she added, knowing that trying to use the epidemic for their advantage would be more effective with Erik than telling him how much better it would be for the health of the performers of the Populaire. "Besides, I'd rather stay in relative safety than be around a lot of people who might have been exposed to it." _It'll also be nice to keep an eye on you. God knows I'd hate to come home from rehearsals one day and find you in a fever._ She didn't voice this thought. Making Erik face his own mortality wouldn't calm him down one jot. She also failed to mention that she'd enjoy the extra time with him.

Danielle had no comprehension of just how relieved he would have been if she's drawn that fact to his attention.

Danielle and Erik did enjoy the company during their little vacation. There was music almost all day long in their grotto, away from the worries of the world. Danielle did occasionally venture forth to visit Marie Giry to see how she and the rest of the company were doing. Erik usually accompanied her, which surprised her immensely. It hadn't occurred to her before their first visit that he might worry about his old friend.

Nadir was also a frequent guest. He was very concerned regarding Erik's fate, as well as Danielle's. Danielle was glad to have him, though Erik found him bothersome. Danielle couldn't understand why that would be. She knew that it had something to do with her. She had known since her first encounter with the Persian. Who did they think they were kidding with their quick change of language as soon as Nadir had realized that she was present? It's wasn't extremely subtle.

Erik had been mysterious before she'd made Nadir's acquaintance. Now he was more enigmatic than ever before.

_Everything was dark, so dark. Danielle couldn't see a thing as she made her way around the lair. She was looking for Erik. She couldn't remember why she'd wanted to see him. Whatever it was, it was very important that she find him. _

_Suddenly, she could feel two familiar arms wrap around her from the back. She knew those arms. They were in all of her waking and sleeping dreams. Erik. _

_Erik pressed his bare cheek against her neck. Danielle could feel his breath as he whispered, "I need you, Danae. Come back to me."_

_"What do you mean," she questioned. "I'm right here, Erik."_

_"Please come back," he repeated, fainter than before, as if he were calling across a great distance. "Please, Danae." He was gone. _

Danielle woke up with a jolt. Something was wrong, very wrong. She had never had a dream like that before. It had been so real, so vivid, that it left her in a cold sweat. The clock on the wall read 6:34. She couldn't hear anything; it was unnerving. She didn't know if Erik was usually up by then. She always slept until 7:30, at least, but he was always up before her. It didn't seem natural for her to wake up first. She didn't even take the time to put on a robe before she left her room to find Erik, grabbing a candle.

Danielle ran straight to his bedroom. She knew he'd be there, though she couldn't tell exactly why. She threw the door open and found it completely dark. From the wavering light of her candle, she could see a shadowy form lying in the bed. She began to feel panicky as she hurried to him.

Danielle's mind had enough time to register that he was wearing neither his mask, nor (she blushed a bit) a shirt, before she noticed that he was sweating and delirious. He was moaning and whispering in his sleep, haunted by something only his fevered brain could identify. Danielle wasn't even sure what language he was speaking. Her greatest fears had come true. It was obvious that he had caught influenza somehow.

For a moment Danielle wasn't sure what to do. She immediately thought of Marie. She would know what to do. If she didn't, perhaps she could get a message to Nadir.

Danielle lit a few more candles. She hurried off into the kitchen and found a rag, which she dampened. She quickly returned to Erik's side and laid it on his forehead, and then pulled the midnight blue covers up to keep him warm. Before she ran off to find the ballet mistress, Danielle brought her lips to Erik's usually masked cheek. She hated to leave him, but she needed help.

Within ten minutes she was in Marie's quarters. Marie couldn't do much for Erik; she was already taking care of three sick ballerinas, but she would certainly go to Nadir's apartment of the Rue de Rivoli and tell him of Erik's illness. She told Danielle that Nadir would probably be of greater use, anyway.

Danielle was back at Erik's bedside in minutes. She silently gazed at his face, finally studying his features. What she was seeing wasn't pretty. It looked as if someone had tried to burn Erik's face off when he was younger. For all she knew, that could very well have been the case. Danielle ran her fingers through his dark hair as he whispered some more incoherent rambling. Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought, _I love him. What will I do if I never see him again?_

**Nadir **

Nadir made his way through the labyrinth that was the cellars of the Opera Populaire. He had worried for some time that something like this might happen. Living underground was not the healthiest plan that Erik could have come up with, though Nadir had been more worried about the girl than about Erik himself. It was very strange for Erik to be ill. In all the years that he had known Erik, he could only think of a handful of times that the trap-door lover had been under the weather.

The Persian finally reached the grotto that Erik and Mademoiselle D'Artoi called home. The place was very dark. Apparently the girl had known felt it necessary to light as many candles as Erik usually employed. He groped his way to the room he knew to be Erik's bedchamber. The door was open, but he stopped short of the threshold. He was rather started by what he was seeing.

Mademoiselle D'Artoi was slowly mopping Erik's fevered brow…his unmasked brow. She was also singing softly to him as he moaned in his delirium. She also ran the damp cloth over Erik's exposed chest, an area that she looked at as thought it were forbidden territory. _Well,_ Naidr said to himself,_ I suppose that it is forbidden to her._ The way she lingered a bit before bringing her gaze back to his face (she didn't flinch in the slightest) made him wonder. Could the girl be attracted to Erik? Did she harbor any feelings for this phantom?

Nadir cleared his throat. He didn't want to be privy to any more of these revelations. All of it was really quite private. Erik would probably have killed him on the spot for witnessing the girl's…what was the right word? Ministrations? Caresses? Nadir suddenly realized just how much he didn't want to know the answer to that question.

Mademoiselle D'Artoi fairly jumped out of her skin. Perhaps she hadn't wanted to be caught looking at Erik that way. It would have done nothing for her reputation, no doubt. She stood up and walked toward him. Nadir marveled at how pale and drawn her face was. She really was worried about Erik.

"Danielle," he said, finally stepping into the room, "What are his symptoms?"

"He is feverish, delirious. He speaks, but I can't understand anything he says. I found him like this an hour or so ago. I think it's…," she trailed off, unable to put her fear into words, lest she tempt fate.

The Persian walked past her to the bed. He knew at a glance that Erik had contracted the sickness ravaging Paris. There wasn't much to be done, but Nadir would give him what remedies he could. He set to work, concocting medicines he had learned not only in Persia, but also in his travels. Attempting to guard the world from Erik had been an interesting and adventurous task that had taken him to many countries. Once he hadfinished getting the ingredients together, he went to the kitchen to mix them with water and heat the brew.

When he got back, the girl was beside Erik again. The scene was oddly tender. She was holding his hand in both of her own. She placed a light kiss on the back of his hand as Erik babbled intelligibly. It was a peculiar blendof almost every language Nadir could think of, and some he couldn't even guess. There was only one clearly discernible phrase that Erik repeated like a mantra: "Don't leave me, Danae. Please don't leave me."

There were tears in her eyes, and bags under them, when Danielle looked up at Nadir. "I'm afraid that it is influenza," he told her sadly. The girl gasped and covered her mouth. The tears flowed freely. "I'm making some herbal remedies now. After I administer them, his constitution and will to live will be all that can save him. If you wish it, I will stay here and help you care for him. If you can accommodate me, that is."

Danielle shook her head, as if to clear it. "Of course, Nadir. When I'm here with Erik, you can sleep in my bed if you like. There is a couch in Erik's study if you prefer that."

"I think, Mademoiselle, that I would do best to sleep on the couch," he answered conservatively.

Nadir decided that he would prepare his bed himself. He got the feeling that the girl would rather stay with their patient. As he walked out of the door, he turned around. She was absent-mindedly running her fingers through Erik's hair while contemplating his face. What could she be thinking?

**Danielle**

Danielle was thinking that she might lose her teacher and friend. She had known Erik for only four months and she couldn't begin to imagine life without him. Would she still be able to sing, or would it hurt too much to be reminded of him? Would she be able to look at another man again? One thing was certain: her life would change drastically if she lost him to the influenza, and it would be for the worse.

She could talk so easily with Erik. Being around him was so natural. And he genuinely cared for her. She trusted him with her life. She needed his support.

Now, he needed hers. He called to her at all hours of the night. If he was restless, Danielle knew it, even if he whispered her name while she was resting in her own room. She rarely left Erik's side, so this was unusual, but she always knew. She'd always come running to comfort him from the nightmares that plagued his sleep. It was taking quite a toll on her, but she hardly noticed. Danielle worried about Erik so much that she gave almost no thought to herself.

The fever raged for days before it broke, only to come back again for several days more. _When will this end?_ There was only one silver lining to this dark storm cloud. At least she got an uninhibited view of Erik's lovely chest. The slight left Danielle feeling a bit feverish herself.

**A/N: Don't worry, my pretties. I wouldn't kill off Erik so soon. And before any of you ask, she is NOT catching the flu. She's feeling feverish for a completely different reason. (nudge, nudge. wink wink) **

**A/N: Some of you might think it strange that they would be so concerned about a flu break-out, but back then, people died from even milder illnesses. They didn't have vaccinations then, so there weren't any preventative measures that could be taken, except staying away from infected people. Epidemics were nothing to sneeze at. (No pun intended) **


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Out of Tartarus

**Disclaimer: I can only dream of owning the wonderful Phantom of the Opera. Woe is me! At least I have Danielle.**

Chapter Fourteen: Out of Tartarus

**Nadir**

Nadir Khan's time with Danielle gave him much to think on. She seemed terrified of the possibility that Erik could die from this affliction. Although Nadir certainly didn't want to see Erik's demise, he would have accepted it without many tears if it came to that. The girl, on the other hand, acted as if her mind would go were she to lose him. Nadir didn't doubt that she would have taken Erik's place if given the chance. He was at a loss as to what could have inspired this devotion.

Nadir spent hours in her company as she watched over Erik with him. Though she was preoccupied with Erik's health, she still managed to do her duty as a hostess by making conversation. She was quite curious as to how he and Erik had come to know each other. Nadir tried to remain vague with the details, preferring to only enlighten Danielle concerning the more positive aspects of Erik's stay in Persia and his adventures, both after his escape and leading up to his arrival. Admittedly, there wasn't much that he could tell her. It wasn't safe for either of them for him to tell her anything too frightening. She would be sure to fear him, and it would be hard for her to hide that. If she tried to escape, Erik would find her. He would not be happy with either turn of events.

Nadir managed to extract some useful information from Danielle during their conversations. He received a more complete account of their relationship. Unsurprisingly, Erik had failed to mention a few very important details of his past. In fact, he had hardly mentioned his past at all. The girl didn't seem very alarmed by this at all when Nadir confronted her with that fact. She had an unsuspicious nature and felt that the past was in the past. He didn't believe this to be very prudent, but he gleaned that something had happened in her past for which she didn't want to be held accountable. Once he'd learned what that was, namely the death of her mother, he felt that Erik's sins were far darker than Danielle's.

Luckily, after a week and a half, Erik's fever finally broke and stayed down. Nadir was confident that Erik would recover. Danielle was still worried, but much more cheerful. The bed-ridden phantom remained unconscious and a bit delirious. He still had a ways to go.

**Danielle**

Danielle felt as if a heavy stone had been lifted from her shoulders when Nadir announced that Erik would recover. She couldn't wait for that prophesy to come true. She only hoped and prayed that he would wake up soon. Once he told her that, she refused to leave Erik's room except for a few hours of sleep. She wanted to be there when he finally returned to the land of the living.

**Erik**

Erik slowly began to regain consciousness. He could hear a quiet murmuring close to him. It sounded like some sort of prayer. He dimly realized that he was in his own bed, bathed in sweat. He felt weak, as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. That was unusual. He was used to going for days without food. He had eaten a moderate meal only the night before with Danielle. But had it been the night before? Even without touching his face, he could tell that he needed a shave. How long had he been asleep? He remembered feeling very tired before he went to bed, and his head and muscles had ached a bit. It was much worse now.

Erik hesitantly opened his eyes. Instead of the darkness he was accustomed to, his bedroom was ablaze with candlelight. _Odd._ And what was that murmuring he was hearing? He turned his head towards the soft, musical sound. His heart began to pound. It was Danielle, kneeling by his bedside, praying. She was in his bedroom! She had never been in there before. He rose up a bit, immediately regretting it because of the dizziness that swam through his head.

"What are you doing here," he asked, his voice surprisingly hoarse.

Danielle's head snapped up, startled but obviously relieved. Her eyes were shining in the candlelight from tears waiting to spill over her pallid cheeks. She got up and took a seat in the chair by his bed, a chair that hadn't been there when he had fallen asleep. Danielle grasped his closest hand before answering.

"You had influenza, Erik," she said calmly. "You were delirious for nearly two weeks." Her voice shook as she explained. "We didn't know if you would make it or not."

"Who are we," he questioned, worried about who had seen him in this weakened state.

"Nadir and I," Danielle rasped. "Marie couldn't come because she has been nursing several members of the _corps du ballet_, but we have been keeping her informed about your condition. She will be very relieved when she finds that you are well. Nadir has been taking care of you, giving you medicines and things. He told me that once you had come out of your delirium I could breathe easily. I don't know what I would have done without his assistance."

"Then it would appear that I owe him yet another life debt," Erik stated dryly.

"Has he saved your life before now," she asked, astonished at this new, rather important piece of information.

"Yes. Once." Suddenly, Erik realized just how cold he was. He looked down to find his chest completely bare. Curses, he didn't wear a shirt to bed! He quickly did his best to cover himself with his arms, mortified that she had seen him like this.

Danielle only giggled and teased. "I wouldn't worry so much about modesty if I were you. Those open shirts you wear so much don't leave much to the imagination, you know."

Erik would have come back with a spectacularly witty retort, if he hadn't suddenly realized what else he didn't wear to bed: his mask. His hand flew up to his face only to find it as bare as his chest. He jumped out of the bed with surprising agility for a man who had been bed-ridden for a fortnight. He was gripped with panic as he thought of the way Danielle must have drawn back with horror the first time she saw his mangled flesh. Everything he had hoped for, the relationship he had built with her, was crumbling before his eyes, and he was helpless to stop it. He wanted to die. He thought wryly, _What else is knew?_

Erik's despair was interrupted by Danielle's frantic voice.

"Erik, what do you think you're doing? You're not well; you need your rest."

He didn't answer; he couldn't. He thought he would be sick any moment. Danielle was in front of him in less than a second.

"Erik, what's wrong? What's the matter? You're scaring me, Erik," she pleaded.

Erik simply gazed at her through the gaps in his fingers. "Why would you try to save a monster like me? Why didn't you just let me die? You would have been doing me a favor."

"Don't talk like this. You're not a monster, and I couldn't bear it if you died," she whispered with some trouble.

"Even though you've seen what I've been trying to hide so desperately from you," he rasped. "I didn't want to haunt your nightmares."

"Oh, Erik, do you think this matters," she asked gently, sweetly. She pulled his hands away from his face and embraced him, whispering in his ear. "I don't care about it. I care about you. I was terrified that you would die, that I'd never get to see you again on this side of eternity."

Erik couldn't believe what he was hearing. Could it be true? Could she really care for him, despite his hideousness? He had to know. The answer could only lie in her eyes. The eyes never lie, no matter what the tongue would have someone believe. He pulled away from her and gazed into those green depths. They told him that she was genuinely happy to see him alive and well.

"Erik," she continued in a low voice, "you're my best friend."

Danielle didn't have a long list of friends, but when people like Marie and Nadir were included in the list, it was quite an honor to head it. Erik was stunned by this simple statement. She really did care. He was overwhelmed with joy, almost drunken with it. The worst day in his life had just become the best.

**Danielle**

"Erik," she continued in a low voice, "you're my best friend."

Danielle reached out and slowly began to stroke his damaged cheek, as she had done so many times during his illness. What had possessed him to think that his face would make a difference to her? Erik's eyes fluttered closed as she brought her light touch to the other side of his face.

"You're still the wonderful musician that astounds me everyday. You're still the man who has shown me more kindness than any of my family. You're still my patient teacher. Erik, if I had turned from you because of this, no one could say that there is any justice in the world," she told him; he needed to understand.

Erik's eyes opened. Her breath caught in her chest when she saw in them what could only be described as boundless hope.

She was soon distracted. He took both of her hands into his. She watched, mystified, as he brought them closer and closer to his lips, bending over them a little. Her heart skipped a beat as he brushed his soft lips against the skin on the back of her left hand, the hand that had been touching his deformed cheek. He did the same with the other hand. Another skip. He turned them both over and kissed the palms, too. Another skip, another. By the time he brought his head up to meet her eyes, she knew she was blushing terrifically.

"I should go and get you something to eat," she muttered vaguely. "You must be famished. And get back to bed," this time with more force and lucidity. "You aren't completely recovered yet, you know."

Danielle hurried out of the room, her step lighter than it had ever been. She nearly collided with Nadir before telling him excitedly that Erik was awake. Once she was safely in the kitchen, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Her cheeks were still burning. She would have to calm down before she faced Erik again. Why did he insist on being so wonderful?

When she felt that she could safely be in the same room with Erik, she finally brought him his dinner and some tea. He and Nadir were staring each other down. Erik seemed to resent the fact that the older man had gone to the trouble of helping him once again. Erik wasn't the type of man that likes to be beholden unto anyone. He had also replaced the mask. Danielle nearly argued, but she decided that it would only tire him.

Once Danielle was satisfied that Erik had been well-fed and was tucked in bed for along-awaited rest, she allowed Nadir to shoo her off to her own bed. It had been two weeks since she had slept for more than two hours at a time. She was reluctant to leave Erik, but grateful that she could finally rest easy. She and Erik were finally out of Tartarus. She drifted off as soon as her body sank into the soft, warm mattress.

**Nadir**

Nadir went off to the kitchen to find himself something to eat. He had promised to keep a close watch on Erik, but his stomach drove him to break it. Erik wasn't in his bedroom when the Persian returned. It was an amazingly easy task to guess where Erik had gotten off too. He had to look no further than Danielle's room.

Erik was leaning against the doorway, staring into the room. Danielle was sleeping peacefully, her hair spread around her head like some dark halo. All Nadir could see of Erik's face was the white porcelain mask, but he knew that there must have been an expression of wonder and adoration of the uncovered side of his face.

Nadir took position leaning against the other side of the frame and said, "You know, she would kill me if she knew you were out of bed."

"I can't imagine why she cares so much," he answered in a small voice.

"Erik," Nadir ventured, "Why are you standing here?"

Erik's reply was a strange monotone. "I promised that I wouldn't go into her bedroom without her permission. I've only been in there once since she came to live here. She was nervous the night before an audition and couldn't sleep. She asked me to sing to her. It was divine."

Nadir regarded the man before him for a moment. "Erik, I must ask you again. Why have you brought her here?"

"I wanted to teach her to sing. That's all," he whispered, as if he didn't know that he was speaking at all. "It wasn't until later…"

"What wasn't until later?"

"That I realized…"

"What, Erik," he asked, impatient.

"I love her."

Well, at least now he had a confession. Erik loved her. Hurray for the world. "What will you do if she doesn't love you? What if she loves someone else?"

"I'll die. I can't live without her, but I'll let her go. I only want her happiness."

Silence reigned as they both contemplated the sleeping girl. Should he tell Erik? Would it only make things worse? Nadir believed that, in a way, Erik had the right to know.

"Erik, would you like to know what happened while you were out," he asked carefully.

For the first time, Erik turned his head so that Nadir could see the human side of his face. "What happened?"

"You were unconscious and unmasked when I arrived. You were babbling in several different languages, some that I recognized and some that I didn't. The only intelligible words were, 'Don't leave me, Danae' and the like. You called out her name over and over. And every time you called her, she came running, even if she had gone to get some rest. She'd only eat and sleep when you were completely calm. I don't think she trusted me to take care of you alone; she felt that she needed to be with you. If something disturbed you, she knew it and would do anything she could to make you feel better." He paused.

"Like what," Erik asked, breathless, as if he wasn't certain that he wanted to know.

"The girl…well, I can hardly call her a girl, after what I've seen in the past two weeks…the _woman_ would sing to you, speak to you. She even kissed your hand or forehead. Even your cheek." He paused for a moment. _What must Erik be thinking of all this?_ He had just discovered that the woman he loves kissed him and he wasn't even awake at the time. "Somehow," he continued, "she always knew exactly what to do to quiet you. Sometimes I would watch her when she didn't know I was around. She'd touch you're cheeks and stare at your face, or cry. I've even heard her pray for you. I was astonished at her behavior. She never once flinched when she looked at you. She never questioned how you came to look the way you did. She just accepted it. I admire her very much. Really," Nadir said with a mirthless laugh, "my medicines aren't what saved you. There isn't much one can do for influenza. The only thing that kept you alive was your will to live."

"She's all I have to live for," Erik murmured, turning back to look at Danielle.

"Then she's the reason you survived."

**A/N: Tartarus was, according to the Greeks, the farthest, darkest reaches of the Underworld. This is where all the really badies went to suffer eternal torture. One man, Tantalus, was forced to stand in a pool of water with a fruit tree above his head. Whenever he bent down to drink, the water receded, and whenever he tried to eat from the tree, the branches were always out of his reach. Sisyphus was forced to roll a boulder up a hill for all eternity. Once he got to the top, the boulder would roll back down again. There was a man who had fifty daughters and his brother wanted them to marry his fifty sons. All of the women but one murdered their husbands. In Tartarus, they were forced to draw water from a well with jugs that had holes in them. They had to carry them and when all of the water ran out, they had to go back to the well for more. Sucks to be them, huh? **

**A/N: Fluff is back in full force. May the fluff be with you! **

**A/N: I've written more than 70 Word Document pages so far. I'm so proud! This is also by far the longest chapter, and I have 65+ reviews. I feel so happy right now. If that prom dress had come in my size, I would be on top of the world right now. **


	15. Chapter Fifteen: An Odd Bond

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom in any way shape or form, except for this plot. I own Danielle and her drunken brother, Luc, though. Yay for me! (sigh)**

Chapter Fifteen: A Return to Normalcy and an Odd Bond Comes to Light

**Danielle and Erik**

Erik was soon back on his feet, though Danielle made him stay in bed until she was completely sure he was strong enough to stay up for long periods of time. They enjoyed a few more weeks of happy solitude, alone now that Nadir had left them. Danielle practically forced Erik to go without his mask every other day, though, truth be told, he didn't really mind that much. He was delighted by the idea that she could look him in the eye without fear or disgust, barely noticing the scars that covered the right side of his face. Of course, he couldn't tell her that. He was afraid that he had given away too much of his "regard" for her already. Danielle, on the other hand, was bursting to tell him her feelings. She withheld the information because she feared rejection. If she told him she loved him, and he didn't favor the idea, she would probably never see him again. They would both be too uncomfortable too continue their lessons.

Throughout this lovely interlude, they discussed everything they could they think of (except their feelings) to entertain each other. For the first time, they didn't have music to fill up their days. Danielle was only too delighted to sing and play for Erik when he wished it, but she tired sooner than he did. They talked about all the places Erik had been, glossing over the unpleasant parts. He didn't fool Danielle, but there was an unspoken agreement between them that she would never question his past. Danielle told Erik about her life, which was far less exciting, but he was an eager listener. She didn't leave out any of the disagreeable moments. Hers weren't as painful, to be sure, and she liked telling him everything. They couldn't _both_ keep secrets. Besides, Danielle felt that it was more important that Erik learn to trust her than she to trust him. She already trusted him with her life; it didn't go much deeper than that. There was the little matter of trusting him with heart; she'd have to work on that.

They also discussed literature. Danielle teased that she had been very bored without him and hadn't found any interesting books with which to occupy herself. Or rather, she had found interesting books, but she couldn't read them because they were written in strange languages that she had never known existed. Nadir had read a bit of them for her and translated them into French. They sounded very exotic, which prompted her to bend the "past rule" by asking how he had acquired such knowledge. They also discussed mythology; there were no books of mythology in his library, which Danielle found extremely disappointing. She scolded him roundly for that.

Eventually, their time together came to an end. The Opera Populaire was up and running again two weeks after Erik's recovery. Rehearsals would begin once the cleaning staff had the place gleaming. The costumers, set designers, etc. would be required to come back first, then the dancer, then the principal singers, followed by the chorus, hairdressers and the people who did everyone's make-up. The gala night would be held a month later, allowing everyone time to get back in shape after their long absence. The whole cast, once assembled, was greatly surprised to see that Danielle was glowing. She told them all that no one in her family had succumbed to the illness, and she was delighted and thankful to God that her loved ones had been spared. No one believed her.

Rumors flew about her and the young tenor playing Raimbaut, Alice's betrothed. Much to Erik's displeasure, the tenor n question was none other than the Francois that had accosted her months before under the Phantom's gaze. His old ways were threatening to resurface with the renewal of Francois' flirtatious air. Erik might have finally killed the annoying insect if he thought Danielle would forgive him. There were also rumors concerning some nouveau riche that Danielle's brother consorted with, and who had hosted the masquerade where Erik and Danielle had first met face to face, or rather mask to face. Apparently the man was named Mathieu Latrec. It was not known how his family had come upon their money, but it was probably in a not-so-legal enterprise. Neither Erik nor Danielle really cared. What did unfounded rumors matter to them?

Rehearsals were going as well as Erik could have hoped. None of the principal performers were terrible, Danielle was perfect, the chorus was passable, and a few of the dancers were showing great talent, no doubt spurred on by Marie, who was as tyrannous with her girls as ever. The gala would, no doubt, be highly praised. Danielle would finally receive the recognition she deserved, and she would be guaranteed the best parts the Populaire had to offer. Everything was well with Erik and Danielle. It's a pity that they had to be so miserable.

**Erik**

The former Phantom of the Opera was miserable because, like Pygmalion, he had molded Danielle's voice into perfection. Compared with hers, every other voice on that stage was an embarrassment. Hers helped cover their flaws by distracting the ear, but on close inspection, every flaw was glaring. In the process of creating this beautiful work of art, he had fallen totally in love with it. The difference was that his creation was flesh and blood, not marble. She was a real, warm, intelligent young woman. That is what made Erik's position so tragic. Danielle was just as unattainable as Galatea, despite the fact that she wasn't a soulless, loveless, motionless stone.

In fact, her soul, her huge capacity to love, and the wonderful way her hips moved when she walked came together in a combined effort to finally destroy Erik's sanity. He didn't even have the luxury of kissing her passive cheek. Pygmalion really didn't know what he'd had. Danielle was always there, a constant temptation. He didn't dare speak his love for fear of losing what little happiness he had contrived. If she knew how much she meant to him, she probably run as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

**Danielle**

Danielle was miserable because, like Echo, she had fallen in love with a man who had no interest in her. She could only watch as Erik bent over his only love, his music, as she sang it back to him, wishing that he would finally see the meaning behind her impassioned singing.

Perhaps she was mistaken in believing that music was his only love. She couldn't forget the haunted look that had always come over him in their little music room above. She still wondered about the previous occupants of that room. What had happened there? What fate had brought her to that particular dressing room?

Who had been before? Was Erik really some sort of Orpheus, mourning for a woman he had lost, staying away from mankind and keeping music as his chosen companion? Danielle could take comfort in the idea that he had chosen her as a friend. Perhaps that was the first step toward a happier life for him. She could only hope that she would be included in his life for the rest of hers.

Dress rehearsals finally came. Danielle's nerves were getting to her again. Every time she thought of the coming opening, she felt like a sea was churning in her stomach and her brain. Unlike the night before her audition, she gave very little thought to how this could affect her career. All her mind had room for was how the performance would affect Erik's opinion of her. She desperately wanted to live up to his high standards. Prayer and their nightly rehearsals were her only consolation.

Between the costume fittings, cosmetics tests, and all-day rehearsals, Danielle realized that the strain was getting to her. Every night she collapsed into bed and welcomed a dreamless sleep. A dreamless sleep, unfortunately, wasn't what she received most of the time. She had harrowing visions of the hissing, jeering crowds. Even the statues decorating the foyer seemed to catcall as she ran past, desperately seeking her music room, where her teacher would be waiting. She always woke up with Erik's disappointed face in her mind's eye.

The day before the gala would be held, Danielle was trudging back to rehearsals after a light lunch with Erik, when she was disturbed by a highly unusual occurrence. Her brother, Luc was waiting for her at the doors to the auditorium. _What now_," she wondered, as she examined his swarthy features and reasonably tidy suit. His light blonde hair was combed away from his face, meaning that he was probably sober. Danielle hoped so; it would be embarrassing to have to deal with her inebriated kinsman in front of her employers and coworkers.

"Danielle, my dear sister," Luc called when he noticed her approach. "You shouldn't have kept me waiting so long."

"What do you want," Danielle asked harshly. "It can't be anything good."

"If you must know, silly girl," he scolded, "I wanted to have dinner with you on the eve of your theatrical debut. You can only imagine how saddened I was to find that you had already gone out."

"Why? Because you had no one to pay for you? Are you and father already out of the money I sent this month," she spat.

"I didn't come for money or a treat," Luc said laughingly, "I just wanted to show some familial support. You know how crusty father is; he won't even be coming tomorrow night, but I will. I want to see my little sister show the people of Paris what she's got."

"You'll be here," she asked, a little touched at his show of brotherly affection.

"Of course, I'll be here. I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'm proud of you, Danielle. I'll even be watching from a private box, one of the best seats in the house," he said graciously.

"A private box? How can you afford that," she demanded suspiciously.

"A friend of mine has Box Eight. He knew how much this meant to me, so asked me to watch with him and his parents," he assured her.

"Oh, well that's nice of him," Danielle murmured, a little let down because he wasn't going to pay the expense of seeing her himself.

"Just be sure to look for me in the audience if you can. I'll be waiting to greet my victorious sister after the performance, so make sure you're in the foyer soon after the curtain closes. I want to introduce you to my charitable friend. I'll owe the night to him, after all." He finally left her to rehearsals, telling people on his way out that the new star of the Populaire was his sister, Danielle D'Artoi, the magnificent singer playing the part of Alice in the newest production. Danielle allowed a smile to creep over her features as she rolled her eyes. _He may be a miscreant_, she thought as she watched his retreating form, _but Luc is entertaining_.

**A/N: Pygmalion was a very talented sculptor who hated woman for all of their character, and physical, flaws. He decided to expose women and all of their imperfections by creating a sculpture of a woman that was so beautiful no mere mortal woman could compare. He was so brilliant that she looked real. She was so perfect that Pygmalion fell in love with the statue. He pretended that she was a real person, and he would dress her in the finest clothes and tuck her in at night. During a festival devoted to Venus, the Roman goddess of love, Pygmalion prayed that he would find a woman like his statue, but Venus knew his heart. When he got back home, he touched the statue and found that it was warm. He kissed, as he had done many times before, but this time she kissed back. He named her Galatea. They got married, had children and lived happily ever after. _Pygmalion_ by George Bernard Shaw is based on this tale, and _My Fair Lady_ by Lerner and Lowe is based on that play. **

**A/N: Echo was a nymph who annoyed Hera, the queen of the gods, with her chatter. Hera cursed her so Echo would only be able to repeat things other people said. Echo fell in love with Narcissus, one of Greece's most infamous heart-breakers. He didn't care for any woman, including Echo. One day, Narcissus happened to notice his reflection in a pool and fell in love with himself. He wasted away longing for his own reflection. Echo also wasted away in mourning until only her voice was left. **


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Cinderella

**Disclaimer: I don't own the _Phantom, Robert le Diable,_ or Rossini's _La Cenerentola_. I'm not nearly talented enough to have written any one of those impressive compositions, though I did win the county fair's writing contest. Woohoo!**

Chapter Sixteen: Cinderella after the Ball

**Danielle**

Danielle woke up feeling as if her insides wanted to see the light of day. She had trouble making herself get out of bed. She had trouble eating. She had trouble with everything, except for singing. That she could still do, fortunately. The only thought that kept her from falling apart was the knowledge that tonight would make her…or break her. If the gala was a success, she could very well have a real career and she would make Erik happy. Strangely, she felt that the latter was the more important of the two. Never before had she loved a person more than singing, not even her father or brother. Not that they had ever been what you'd call lovable. Still, it was an earth-shattering concept for her to digest. She wanted Erik's happiness more than anything.

As rehearsals dragged on, Danielle felt that the day would never end. She longed to crawl home and see Erik one last time before her fate arrived, but it was beginning to look like that wouldn't be an option. She would see him after the show, of course, but she needed him for courage. Once the costumes and make-up were on, it became apparent that she would simply have to wait. At least she knew he would be watching her somehow.

Danielle fingered the lace on her costume. It wasn't as glorious as Giselle's, but she somehow preferred the peasant garb to the voluminous skirts and petticoats glittering with jewels. She wasn't quite ready for the full diva transformation she knew would come soon.

It was difficult standing there in the wings, watching the more experienced singers on stage before her cue. It wasn't because they were effortless. In fact they didn't seem to be doing that well, though it really wasn't a huge surprise. She prayed quickly that she wouldn't have so much trouble.

That was her cue. Danielle—no, she was Alice—walked gracefully out onto the stage. She spoke with her brother, Robert. She warned him about his father. She was dreadfully afraid of that horrible man. She didn't know why; it was instinctive. He seemed dangerous. She looked up at the ceiling painted like the Heavens. That's when she saw him.

Erik was watching from the railing in the dome above the chandelier. He smiled at her encouragingly, and the opera continued. Everything was perfect; Erik was there. Nothing could go wrong with him guarding over her. She imagined that there was no audience but him. Everything was just like their lessons at home.

Three hours later, Danielle curtsied to the audience, grinning with pride and exhilaration. The applause of hundreds was ringing in her ears. It was for her. Perhaps not all of it, but some of that dull roar belonged exclusively to her talent. She had been welcomed by each and every spectator. She could even see her brother giving her a standing ovation and telling the people in the box next to him that she was his sister.

Danielle was soon off the stage, out of her costume, into normal clothes and being greeted by a flurry of admirers. After shaking hands with a few nobles and members of the bourgeoisie, she was confronted with none other than her brother, Luc. Accompanying him was a flamboyantly dressed young man of medium height and stocky build. His eyes were a muddy brown and his sandy blonde hair fell just below his shoulders. There was a seedy, conniving glint in his eyes that made Danielle dislike him immediately. He was definitely not the kind of man that she would want to be alone with for any length of time.

"Danielle, darling," Luc began in that irritatingly arrogant voice he used when trying to impress someone, "I would like you to meet my close friend, Mathieu Latrec. Mathieu," he said, turning to his companion, "this enchanting talent is my younger sister, Danielle D'Artoi. Danielle, we were just discussing the excellent performance you gave to the Parisian elite this evening. Mathieu was especially awestricken."

"Yes, Mademoiselle, I was quite captivated by your charm," Latrec complemented in an oily voice. "I shan't miss a single performance. Perhaps we shall become better acquainted if I do."

"I'm sure we will, Monsieur Latrec," Danielle returned with a steely tone. "I believe that Luc will see to that. Please pardon me, but I must depart. It has been an exciting day. My nerves can't take the strain," she told them graciously. Only Latrec missed the sarcasm.

Danielle was fuming as she made her way to the dressing-room that would lead her home. To think that she had fallen for Luc's proud big brother act! She had actually believed that he would come to support her. How foolish could she be?

The irate singer hardly noticed where she was going. Her feet were simply walking in a familiar direction. She came to herself only when she had come out of one of the many tunnels and found herself in the den. Erik was seated on the sofa, waiting for her. He must have been waiting impatiently because as soon as she set foot on the Persian carpet, he was up and interrogating her.

"Where have you been," he questioned furiously. "I've been sitting here for almost an hour."

"I was detained," Danielle rejoined, not bothering to hide the flashes of lightening in her eyes.

Erik immediately recoiled. She had never spoken to him like that before. Something was very wrong. "What happened," he asked gently, concerned.

"First I had to endure a flood of fans. Then I spoke with my pig-headed brother," she spat. "I thought that he had come to celebrate my success, because he cared. I was such an idiot!" She ground her teeth, while pacing about the room. "Do you know the real reason he was here? He wanted to introduce me to some drinking-buddy of his, Mathieu Latrec."

"Why would he bother," Erik muttered, confused but hoping she wouldn't explode.

"Don't you get it? This Latrec comes from one of the wealthiest nouveau riche families in all of France. His father is worth a very large fortune. Luc obviously wants me to marry him," she finished on a whisper.

"How does that matter," Erik asked reasonably, though beginning to burn with anger himself. "If you don't want to marry Latrec, don't marry him. It's as simple as that. They can't force you to do anything you don't want to. You're old enough to make your own decisions."

"I suppose so," Danielle agreed doubtfully. "I had just hoped that Luc was changing, that he really loved me. I should have realized that that was too good to be true."

"I'm sorry, Danielle. I wish things could be different."

"I don't," Danielle stated brightly, smiling at him warmly. "There's no use feeling sorry for myself. Everything happens for a purpose. I'm stronger because of my family's rejection. I'm independent enough to follow my dreams despite them. If I weren't, we might have never met. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Erik stared into her eyes for a moment, as if reading them for any contrary feelings. When he had been satisfied with her sincerity, he said, "Well, perhaps we could pursue a new subject. Your performance tonight, for one."

Danielle took a seat in an armchair near the fireplace, and waited patiently for his assessment. He was sure to have praise, but she knew that he had detected room for improvement. Danielle was certainly the first to admit that she wasn't infallible, and she liked that Erik challenged her to be better. That was exactly what she needed in an instructor…a partner.

"Your performance was," he paused, as if trying to find the right word to describe it, "spectacular," he finally said, smiling broadly.

Danielle's smile was even wider. It felt so good to have Erik's approval. Eventually he would get around to telling her what she had done wrong, but the fact that he had chosen to praise her first was definitely a good sign. That was how she knew she had made few mistakes.

"All our plans are in motion now, Danae," Erik assured her, as excited about her blossoming career as she. "Nothing will stop us. Come morning, you will be the talk of Paris and the prima donna of the Opera Populaire. I overheard the managers one day while you were at rehearsal," he said, trying to sound both sly and casual.

"What did you overhear," Danielle asked, humoring him.

"I heard them discussing the next show with Reyer."

"What is it," she breathed, her excitement now truly peaked.

"Rossini's _La Cenerentola_," Erik whispered.

"Cinderella? The next opera is going to be the tale of Cinderella," Danielle exclaimed, transported with delight at the very thought of being in the audience. One can only imagine how she must have felt to know that she would be in the production, and the most probable lead, no less. "Oh, Erik, this is wonderful."

"You'll be the little cinder girl, Danae. I estimate that they will offer you the part before the end of the week. Angelina is yours," he told her.

"I'm so happy, Erik," Danielle muttered. "I'm completely amazed that all of this is really happening to me. It's more than I ever hoped for; thank you," she said, turning her face toward him.

"I love music and beauty more than anything," Erik replied. "How could I do anything but help you after I heard your music?"

Danielle blushed to a deep scarlet. "What could you have possibly seen in me? You're a genius…the most talented human being I've ever met."

"I saw potential and, most importantly, I saw passion. A singer can have the most pure, bell-like tone, but she is nothing without passion for the music," he explained. "If they don't show what their soul contains, they can never be truly great. You have both the voice and the soul to be great."

**Erik**

Erik hardly slept that night. He kept thinking about this _Latrec_ Danielle had mentioned. This wealthy, dandified, little whoremonger had better leave his Danae alone. Erik could just kill something when he thought of it. That idiot wanted to take Danielle away? He would have to deal with the consequences.

The jealous, murderous Erik was trying to claw his way out again. There had always been a dangerous, dark, bitter side that wanted nothing more than to give the world as much pain as he had gotten. Over the years he had pushed that side to the back of his mind, the core of his soul. Now it was fighting for control again. All he could do was imagine his hands around Latrec's neck, squeezing the life out of him for daring to speak to his Danae. That would be satisfying.

Erik hoped it wouldn't come to that, but nothing could threaten their happiness. She loved him, didn't she? It had certainly seemed that way earlier. She had seemed so grateful and sweet that she had endeared herself to him even further, if that were possible. But was gratitude enough to make her love him? He had sworn to Nadir that he would let her go if she chose another, but now that that prospect had become so real, Erik didn't know if he could do it.

All that could be done was wait. He would wait for the morning, take everything one day at a time. He had been proud beyond measure because of her performance. In the morning all of Paris would know her name. She deserved as much, but not just because of her hard work or talent. She deserved it because of her passion. He had taught her those songs, practiced them with her for hours. The only thing he hadn't done was give her that passion for her art. That was all hers.

**Danielle**

Danielle smiled as she brushed her dark, curly hair in front of the mirror of her vanity. Erik could hardly know that he was a large part of the passion he mentioned. Passion for music and the love of God had been her only reasons to live for years, and now he was just as big an influence as the music. In fact, he was the music. She had never before felt so much while singing of love, or sorrow, or anything really. Her life had changed drastically since Erik had stepped into it. Sometimes it felt as if her heart beat because his did. His presence certainly affected her heart's speed. Being near him was electrifying. Hearing him speak was heavenly. It just seemed right to be with him, as if she were meant to be. She certainly hoped so.

**Erik**

Erik arose early in the morning. He needed to get his hands on the paper as soon as possible. He also made a mental note to speak to Marie later that day. She would probably want to hear about his further plans for Danielle. Marie was overly concerned with Danae. It was infuriating at times. Why did everyone assume that he would hurt in some way? They had no cause for alarm. He worshipped everything she touched as if they were holy relics.

Once he had managed to steal one of the many copies of the news delivered to the Opera House, Erik went immediately to the theatre section. Bold letters proclaimed "D'ARTOI NEW SENSATION IN PARIS OPERA" The article that accompanied the headline praised her talent, beauty, and verisimilitude in the role of the innocent maiden, Alice. "Her voice is the most sublime to be heard on any stage in many years," the critic lauded. "The purity of her tone can only be matched by the immaculate soul she carries to the audience as she weaves her enchantment…No one had foreseen her rise, but anyone could predict her noontide stardom."

Perhaps the article was a little gushy, but it would certainly capture the attention of the managers, especially since that particular critic was always ready to use any occasion to harpoon the Populaire's productions. Yes, this would satisfy them. They would finally see the incredible error they had committed for a year. Danielle's future was assured. They had nothing to worry about. After _Robert _ended, the Christmas season would put the company on hold for a couple of weeks, but once rehearsals began for _La Cenerentola_, Danielle's salary would go up and all of her competition would go down.

**Danielle**

Danielle awoke from wonderful dreams that involved Erik's lips and quickly dressed. By now he would probably know what the critics had had to say about her performance; she was anxious to find out if she had been as well accepted by them as she had been by the rest of the audience. Despite her desire to know, she dressed carefully. She wanted to look nice for Erik that day, though she would never have admitted it to anyone else. There wasn't really a reason; she just wanted to look the part of his successful student prima donna.

Once she opened the door and stepped out into the main living area, she was immediately met by Erik, who looked as excited as she felt. His eyes were glowing and his usually perfect hair was a bit disheveled. He thrust the paper into her hands without a word and stared at her as she read to article about her debut. It was nothing short of sappy, but it was certainly flattering. She was just glad to get a good review, anyway.

Erik's prediction came true sooner than anyone had expected. Danielle was offered the part of Angelina, the little cinder girl, that very day during rehearsals.

**A/N: _La Cenerentola _is based on the fairy tale about Cinderella. I trust that we all have some familiarity with the story. Cinderella is called Angelina in this opera. It is rather loosely based, but it follows the tale pretty well, all things considered. **


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Cranes and Visitors

**Disclaimer: I own not Le Fantome de l'Opera or Labyrinth. Nor do I own Japan, though that would so rock.**

Chapter Seventeen: Paper Cranes and Unexpected Visitors

**Erik**

Soon letters from Danielle's admirers came flooding in, and so did visits from those admirers. Erik was perfectly content when women gushed over Danielle's talent while standing in her dressing-room, but he was not so pleased when the visitors were handsome, young, wealthy _men_. He didn't appreciate the old wealthy men, either. He had known it was coming, of course, but that didn't make it any easier to watch them flirt with his beloved. The green-eyed monster within him always strained at its bonds when he thought of how much he would love to have the luxury of wasting time complementing Danae on her lovely eyes, silky hair, and beautiful face just like these pompous cretins. Somehow he always managed to contain his more feral instincts, but it was only with extreme difficulty.

The most persistent of Danielle's guests was none other than Monsieur Mathieu Latrec, idiot extraordinaire. That boy with his perfect hair and even, white teeth would come to every performance, and then bother the "most acclaimed soprano in all of France" afterward. He invariably came with that wretched Luc. They would stay for hours, severely interfering with Erik and Danielle's music lessons. He would have gladly rid himself of the parasite, but he knew Danielle would never forgive him for it, no matter how much she detested him herself.

Danielle was ever the gracious hostess during these unfortunate visitations. That is until Latrec had the audacity to come alone. Erik looked on as the filthy little fop sidled into the room unaccompanied. The weasel was as oily as ever, detailing her genius in the most sickening of terms.

Judging from her reception of him, Danielle had not appreciated his lone call.

Erik had become accustomed to the warm, inviting, charming Danielle he had seen so often since their lessons began. He had observed that she even went so far as to cheerfully converse with her fellow performers and the other various opera staff, leaving everyone with the notion that success did her good, instead of poisoning her like so many others. He had all but forgotten the cold, professional girl that had intrigued him all those months ago, but once Latrec stepped into that dressing-room without her brother, Danielle had recovered the harsh mantle of ice that she had been wont to wear before Erik's music entered her life.

Why was Erik suddenly feeling so hot under the collar? He loosened the cravat around his throat a little, but in vain.

"My thanks for your kind words, Monsieur Latrec," she muttered sardonically through clenched teeth. "You are too amiable."

Danielle's eyes were two unforgiving, grey storm clouds as she stared daggers into Latrec's suddenly uneasy eyes. Her displeasure was more apparent as time wore on. Danielle's arched eyebrows dared the fool to remain another minute. He was more imprudent than Erik had previously estimated.

"I would do anything to encourage the application of your miraculous talent, Mademoiselle," he assured her gallantly.

"I need all the encouragement I can get, I am sure," she said with an ironic smirk. By now, even the most thick-headed of men would have taken the hint, but the dandy would not be availed upon to comprehend. Matters became no better for Latrec when he decided to discuss the ball that Danielle had attended while she had been unaware of the fact that the scum she saw before her had been the host. Though he obviously thought that this would give them some common ground, he hit upon a subject that made Danielle's nostrils flare in offense.

"There was a couple there that night possessing unspeakable rudeness and bad taste," Latrec drawled with an attitude of great superiority. "Did you happen to notice that there was a couple who danced almost every dance together for several hours straight? You would expect them to dance together two or three times throughout the whole night, but not twenty or so. And partnering so many times in a row," he exclaimed, shocked at their impudence. "I would be mortified if a partner insisted on dancing as few as twice in a row. Their astounding cheek nearly ruined the whole evening."

Erik was certainly enjoying this entertainment. The arrogant wind-bag had no idea that he was speaking to one of those uncouth individuals at that very moment.

"Perhaps they especially enjoyed each other's company, Monsieur," Danielle reasoned icily. "They might be happily married right now because they happened to fall in love on your dance floor."

"I should hope not," he sneered, "for I would hate to see such low-lives beget progeny."

Erik growled a bit at the back of his throat as Latrec finally left at Danielle's (oh, so subtle) insistence that she had to rest for the following day. Erik snorted in amusement as she practically shoved Latrec out the door, which she slammed shut behind her.

"I thought he'd never leave," Erik called out to her from the little trapdoor from which he had witnessed the whole scene.

"How do you think I feel," she retorted irritably, taking her hair down from its braids in front of her vanity. "You weren't the one who had to deal with him."

"Perhaps not, Danae, but I'm the one who had to stand here waiting for you to do it."

"At least he's gone…for now," she sighed, pessimistically.

"You shouldn't be so polite, Danielle," Erik advised. "Speak your mind. Tell him you despise everything about him."

"It isn't quite that easy, Erik," she answered wearily. "A performer will either live or die by society. I have to keep up the most congenial appearance I can, no matter how much I detest the person standing in front of me. It would be a grave mistake to make no attempts at courtesy even if the man is just nouveau riche. He is still above my station. It was risky to be as hostile as I was. We can't all enjoy the same brazen insolence that you are fortunate enough to entertain. It would be career suicide to go right out and tell him that he is the vilest creature I've ever had the misfortune of meeting."

"You don't necessarily have to be that harsh," Erik chided. "You could simply tell him that he is the vilest creature you have seen this month."

That got a laugh out of his sour-mouthed little songbird. "Somehow I don't think he would be much less offended with that statement than with the other. Besides, if I want to be rude, I might as well be at my worst and get it all out of my system," she explained.

"Have it your way," Erik said. "Will you be up here long?"

"No. Go back without me," she answered, undoing the clasp on her necklace. "I'll be home shortly."

Erik made his way through the damp tunnels to his subterranean chambers. Somehow, it seemed much brighter down there after Danielle had called it home. The more she did so, the more hospitable the lair became. He prepared a small meal for her. She would probably be famished by the time she got back. First a performance until ten, and then a visit from the most repulsive thing on two legs; Danielle had certainly been through a trying evening.

Erik finally heard the lady of the house coming along one of the passages. They enjoyed their quiet supper-for-two, and then Erik suggested rest. Surprisingly, Danielle wanted to stay up a bit later. They sat in the den and discussed whatever came to mind. Meanwhile, Danielle was busy folding paper.

"What are you doing," Erik ventured.

"Origami," she said simply.

"I can see that, but how did you ever come to know of something so utterly oriental?"

"My mother had discovered it somehow when she was a girl, and I happened upon her book of instructions one day in the attic," Danielle replied absent-mindedly, intent on her work. "I have no idea how she heard about it, but I'm very glad she did. It was a highly satisfactory way to pass an hour or two in my dull home."

Erik watched for a few moments. She had made fifteen paper cranes in the last five minutes. "Do you know the story about the thousand paper cranes," he asked her.

"If I fold one thousand paper cranes in one year, I will be granted a wish; is that it?"

"Yes, that's the one. Do you know the legend," he inquired politely.

"You know, I don't think I do," Danielle responded, playing along with him.

"Well, if you fold one thousand of those, you'll be granted a wish," Erik said with a completely impassive face.

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"How lovely! I shall have to think about what I want. Perhaps a new dress. Or a blue hat," she joked. "I know: I shall have to wish for a lavender parasol."

"If I were you," Erik teased, "I would wish that Latrec were sent to live with the goblins."

"That is quite a good idea," she admitted, "though I wouldn't do it, which is why I'm the one folding the paper cranes."

"Are you implying that I am impatient, my dear," he scoffed.

"That is precisely what I am implying, my good sir."

"Then you may have to start teaching yourself how to sing."

"I'm sure that I could do as good a job as you," she stated saucily.

**Christine**

The Vicomtesse Christine de Chagny was looking forward to an evening out. Unfortunately, little Phillipe was unwilling to let maman go. He was wailing and holding onto her golden hair as she tried to put him to bed. The poor dear. He couldn't know how much she wished he could come with them and listen to the music.

It had been several months since Christine and her husband, Raoul, had gone to the opera. As a patron, the Vicomte felt that they needed to make the occasional appearance. He would have given up the Populaire years ago if she hadn't begged him to help keep it running. It had been Christine's home for so long that she couldn't think of it in disrepair.

Besides, all _that_ business was long over. At the age of twenty, and already a mother, Christine felt that it was decidedly foolish to fear the nightmares of sixteen. There was also another reason for her efforts to keep the Opera Populaire going: _him_.

Of course, he was probably long gone by now, but she owed it to him to keep his refuge, his palace, alive. For all she knew, he himself was dead. The least she could do after breaking his heart was to restore the only place he had had any real hope of happiness, even if it had never come to fruition. Christine no longer feared him and no longer wished him ill. All she could do was wish him happiness. She would never forget the way they had parted. He was crying. She didn't think that she had ever seen a man sincerely cry before. She had only seen men cry as a stage trick. And he had cried for her. That was a very humbling thought.

As their carriage rounded a corner, the opera house came into view, glowing as always. Christine was still contemplating all those years ago. She grinned when she remembered Raoul's reaction to her feelings concerning the Phantom of the Opera. He had been very confused and a little jealous, too. The poor man had nothing to fear. She wasn't about to give him up for a ghost.

Upon taking their leave of the carriage, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and the Vicomtesse Christine were immediately greeted by the managers themselves, along with an assortment of other nobles. The evening promised splendor and entertainment, pomp and circumstance.

They were both beginning to regret their decision to come.

One of the unnamed causes for this glorious return was the rumor that a newly debuted soprano was more talented than Christine had ever been. It had sparked a few moments of jealously deep in Christine's heart, but she had passed it over. It couldn't possibly be true. She had been taught by the Opera Ghost himself from six years old to sixteen. This new soprano couldn't have surpassed her when she had no teacher.

Christine wouldn't have really minded had the rumors been true. Her time in the spotlight had ended. She only entertained her family and the occasional visitor. This girl had a career ahead of her and Christine wished her the best.

**Raoul**

The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny hoped that the evening wouldn't be too much for his wife. She had never exactly enjoyed being back at the Populaire, though she assured him that she was quite happy to return. Perhaps it was just his imagination, after all. He certainly hated almost every minute of being there. He just had too many horrible memories of that building: the man who had once dominated it, his obsession, the fear in Christine's eyes…it was all too hard to relive. It had been difficult enough the first time around; neither of them needed reminding.

Of course, now they were settled and perfectly safe. They had a son, a happy life together, and the peace that suited both of their natures. Surly, a little trip to the opera house couldn't tear it all apart, could it?

**A/N: It really would have been considered rude for a couple to dance so much together during the nineteenth century, especially if they partnered two or more dances in a row. The whole goal of these parties was to socialize, not to romance. Some people might have considered it unfair to dominate a person's time because that meant that no one else had a chance with him, or her. **

**A/N: Did any of you catch my Labyrinth reference? I love that movie. David Bowie makes such a great Goblin King. Everybody should watch it. **

**A/N: There is a real legend in Japan that if you fold a thousand paper cranes, the gods will grant you a wish. I think it's supposed to be some sort of reward for patience and being zen. Any guesses concerning what you think she'll wish for? Hint: It won't be Erik. **

**A/N: Is it me or is Christine wishing a whole lot of happiness. She seems to have graciousness oozing out of her ears or something. **


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Bonsoir, Monsieur

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Phantom of the Opera_, but I do own two copies of the book. One is the English translation, and the other is the American translation. I don't own _Robert le Diable_, either. That belongs to Giacomo Meyerbeer, who probably won't be suing me anytime soon, since he's been dead for 142 years.**

**A/N: I decided to give you all a little Palm Sunday treat, since I've been on Spring Break. Here's another chapter just of you. Bon appétit!**

Chapter Eighteen: Bonsoir, Monsieur le Fantôme

**Danielle**

Danielle was once more staring out at the stage and at the enormous crowd arrayed in their best clothing and jewels. The triumph of the night before had not killed all of her nerves, but she was a little calmer than before. She idly wondered what Erik was doing as she watched for her cue. He had probably taken up his position near the chandelier. She took another, more focused, peek at the audience. Supposedly, Nadir was out there somewhere, but she couldn't see him from that vantage point. She had suspected that he would get a seat as shadowy as possible. It was strange how alike he and Erik could be, but she wouldn't dare say it in front of either of them. No one was that stupid.

Danielle saw something flutter to the floor out of the corner of her left eye. She turned toward it and looked down to find a white rose and a note. It wasn't hard to figure out who the mysterious writer could be. She bent down and picked it up, shifting her eyes around to see if anyone had noticed. When she decided that she was in the clear, she opened it with tremulous hands, excited and apprehensive about the contents. She had always imagined him declaring his love in some similar, unorthodox fashion. Unfortunately, what she read would leave her a trifle disappointed.

_Be not so frightened, ma chérie petit muse. God and his angels are smiling. Let the music guide you, and remember the pride of your teacher. He could not be more pleased with a student than he is with you. I will be watching, Danae. _

_Always yours,_

_Erik_

_P.S. Don't forget to support your high notes._

Danielle smiled and shook her head slightly, careful not to muss her meticulously arranged hair, as she folded the note and hid it in her bodice. That was Erik, alright. Even when encouraging her, he never forgot to remind her that she wasn't perfect. Somehow, she preferred things that way.

**Erik**

_Why did she have to put it there of all places? Does she want me to go mad_," Erik thought to himself as he navigated the catwalks above the stage. It would be difficult to concentrate on the performance once he got to the dome knowing what she had done with his note.

**Christine**

Christine de Changy and her husband were watching the opera from their lush, velvet-covered seats in Box Three. It was very tactful of the managers to make sure that Box Five was not even mentioned to them at the box office. That may have been mere coincidence, but she was sure that they had left such instructions. She half wished that they could buy Box Five. It would make her feel like a twittering chorus-girl again, scared and excited at the same time because she was challenging the all-powerful Phantom.

When Danielle D'Artoi, the soprano they were so curious to hear, entered the scene, neither of Christine, nor Raoul, was particularly struck by her beauty. There was very little extraordinary about her looks, but there was something interesting about the rest of her. She was very graceful. Her movements were as fluid as a dancer's and her posture was as confident as a diva's, though her smile was as sweet as that of a humble country maiden.

Once she opened her mouth, it became obvious why she had garnered such high praise. She was sublime, simply sublime. She wasn't exactly better than Christine, but she was at least an equal.

Christine was enjoying the performance immensely. It had been a long time since a singer had really shined at the Populaire. Mademoiselle D'Artoi sparkled and glittered as she thrilled the audience with her divine innocence. Helping this girl's career was certainly worth keeping the Populaire going, no matter what had happened there. Mademoiselle D'Artoi was a true artist, not merely some meek-voiced soprano whom the managers chose because there was no one better available.

There was one rather distracting mannerism that the new soprano had that a more experienced performer would have avoided. She always seemed to be gazing at the heavens when she was not addressing one of her fellow characters. It was very odd, indeed. It gave her a sort of dreamy quality that Mademoiselle D'Artoi might have been trying to achieve. The papers had spoken of her maidenly modesty, after all. Perhaps she was attempting to give the public what they wanted in a stage heroine. Or perhaps it was something else…

Christine immediately pictured the swinging chandelier in her mind. No, that couldn't happen again. Surely there was nothing wrong. The girl wouldn't look so calm and joyful if she saw some disaster approaching. Despite her logic, Christine couldn't help turning her fearful blue eyes to the painted ceiling.

Nothing seemed out of order. The chandelier was as motionless and pristine as ever. It wasn't until her glance reached the railing around the dome from which the chandelier was hanging that she noticed something peculiar: a man in black...with a blindingly white half-mask.

She couldn't suppress her gasp of shock, surprise and a little fear when she saw him again after all those years. Her stomach began to churn as Christine saw and understood the emotion etched into every line of his exposed features. It was pure, unadulterated adoration. For a moment, an agonizing moment, she believed that her return was the source of this ardor, but then she followed his eyes toward the stage. He was staring intently at the soprano playing Alice, Mademoiselle D'Artoi.

Christine experienced first relief that she could expect no more trouble from the Phantom, and then anxiety for the poor girl. She had no way of knowing the misfortunes that would befall her while in that man's clutches.

Raoul had not noticed any of her disquiet. Christine grasped his gloved hand, convulsively. He looked at her questioningly and, in mute reply, she pointed toward the dome. Her husband's eyes searched the ceiling for a moment before his face hardened. Apparently, he had alighted upon the Phantom, as well. He returned his gaze to his wife and muttered, "After the last act."

Christine nodded slowly, comprehending his rather vague directions, though unsure of what they would entail. They both calmly turned back to the performance, stoically watching the story unfold, while grim thoughts of how their own saga would end blocked the whole opera from their minds.

**Raoul**

As Raoul de Chagny and his wife slipped through the winding passages of the Populaire, there was only one thought on his mind: they had to warn that girl. There was only one possible destination for them to choose. They had to reach it before Mademoiselle D'Artoi. If they were wrong, all could very well be lost. Still, it was their duty to see that the Phantom was not given another chance to ruin a young girl's life.

**Erik**

Erik was jubilant. Danielle's performance had come off without a hitch, though that couldn't be said for anyone else in the cast. Fortunately, Danielle's was the only performance that really mattered, especially to him.

A delighted smile was stretching the corners of his lips as he opened the mirror. Any moment, his love would throw open the door, flushed from her recent success, and then rush into his arms, finally admitting her love for him because he was responsible for her triumph. At least, those are the events Erik wanted to transpire. Obviously, they wouldn't, but he was more than willing to dream until he was forced to face reality.

He began to pace around the room, impatient for his beloved to appear. She was probably being held up by that fatuous Mathieu Latrec at that very moment. The idea made his blood boil, but he knew Danielle wouldn't respond favorably to the dolt's advances.

Erik's heart started to race as the doorknob turned, emitting a faint squeal. He turned around as the door opened, but the grin on his face faded, and he was forced to swallow his words of praise, when he realized who had just entered.

**Christine**

Christine had not expected to see so much astonishment on the Phantom's face, or at least what was visible of it. She had assumed he would know they were there and that they would be coming. He had always known where she was before. He had known everything.

What had changed? Why, instead of seeing an arrogant and bitter smirk, was she looking at wide eyes and a slack mouth? The answer leaped to the eye, as it were. He was focused solely on the D'Artoi girl. History was repeating itself. One obsession had been replaced by another. When would he learn?

The Phantom soon regained his composure. He returned Christine's stare for a few moments, the left side of his visage as passive as the porcelain covering his right. Then, his eyes traveled toward her husband, at whom he glared viciously, daring Raoul to speak. In a moment, he went from a creature that had been backed into a corner to the haughty genius she had known so long ago.

"Might I inquire as to the purpose of this audience," the ghost growled.

"We know about the girl," Raoul spat at him. "We'll not allow you to harm her."

"What business is it of yours," the masked man asked calmly.

"I am a patron of the Opera Populaire, and, as such, Mademoiselle D'Artoi is my responsibility. It is also my duty as a man to protect an innocent girl from the machinations of a scoundrel."

"You may help pay her, Monsieur, but you don't own her," the Phantom retorted. "She is her own woman and is quite capable of making her own choices. I doubt that she would want your assistance."

"Oh, do you," Raoul asked, taking threatening step forward. "She'll beg for it after I've told her what you've done."

The Phantom blanched at this statement. Something that looked a little like panic flitted into his eyes, but was gone almost instantly.

"You wouldn't dare," he whispered.

"Wouldn't I," Raoul challenged.

"If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn't," the Phantom snorted.

"It isn't in good taste to threaten a man in front of his wife," Raoul said in an oddly inappropriate, mock-friendly tone.

"I don't usually consider the social ramifications of my actions, Monsieur," Erik admitted, crossing his arms and standing to his full height, which was much taller than Raoul's.

"I've noticed that particular fault," Raoul sneered.

"I don't call it a fault," Erik said smoothly. "I call it a freedom."

The two men's barely polite banter was interrupted by the creak of the doorknob. Everyone turned toward the entrance of the room to find Mademoiselle D'Artoi, who was taking in the entire corridor outside, as if she were trying to make certain that she was alone.

"I'm sorry I'm so late; Latrec was on my back again, and I just couldn't get away from him," she huffed from the door. "He makes me so angry I can't see straight."

Once the girl was satisfied that no one would bother them, she closed the door gently and whirled around. She froze when she saw Christine and Raoul, her face betraying shock and alarm. Her grey eyes darted toward the Phantom. She seemed to be silently asking for an explanation. Her gaze returned to Raoul, and then to Christine. The girl stared at her for a moment, recognition widening her eyes for a moment before glancing toward the Opera Ghost once more, with a bracing look in her eyes. It was caught by the Phantom, who had looked at nothing but the dark-haired soprano since she had put her foot over the threshold.

She finally spoke, facing Raoul. "_Bonsoir, Monsieur_ _le Vicomte et Madame la Vicomtesse_." She curtsied gracefully before bringing her wary eyes to Raoul's face.

"_Bonsoir, Mademoiselle D'Artoi_," Raoul greeted, inclining his head in return for her pleasantries. "My wife and I have many grave things to discuss with you."

**Erik**

Erik turned away to face the other direction and hung his head in silent shame. He realized that nothing was to be done. All that he could do now was to simply wait for Danielle's reaction. It wouldn't be pretty.

**A/N: This isn't _exactly_ Raoul-bashing. I think that he has every right to act the way he did. I know I would be mad at Erik if he had nearly killed me and had tried to force my girlfriend (not that I would have one in the first place, mind you) to marry him. Besides, I can kind of sympathize with Raoul. I mean, he did love Christine, who loved him. I'm inclined to think that he had more right to her, which is exactly why this is an Erik/Other Woman phic. **

**A/N: Three cheers for anyone who noticed my Hercule Poirot reference. I love that little egg-headed, mustached Belgy. And that, my friends, was a "Murdered to Death" joke. I love Turner Classic Movies. That is one of the greatest channels on the face of the planet, God bless it.**

**A/N: I love writing Erik's interior monologues. I am soooo evil.**

**French-English Translations: **

**Bonsoir: Good evening**

**Monsieur le Fantôme: Mr. Phantom**

**Ma chérie petit muse: My dear little muse**

**Monsieur le Vicomte et Madame la Vicomtesse: Mr. Viscount and Mrs. Viscountess (Weird way to address someone, huh?)**


	19. Chapter Nineteen: A Tragic Tale Begun

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any way. I do own the plot of this story, the character Danielle, and the Original London Cast Recording, which rocks my socks. **

**A/N: It is amazing the way time flies. It seems like yesterday I was posting chapter eighteen. I guess it is true that junior year is the busiest year of high school. Today, I checked my in-box and got my first cussing for not updating quickly. So, I give you chapter nineteen to avoid giving a certain vampire a heart attack (and because I'm a little afraid of her). Anywho, here is the next installment of the saga of Danielle D'Aroi, beautiful singer, and Erik, the incredibly hot phantom.**

Chapter Nineteen: A Tragic Tale Begun

**Christine**

"What," the girl asked delicately, stepping over the subject the way one would step over broken glass, "could you have to discuss with me."

"Mademoiselle, you are in the presence of a cold-blooded killer," Raoul declared triumphantly. Danielle didn't even blink. This had not been the wanted reaction, so Raoul decided to expand his accusation, believing that Danielle was too slow to understand it the first time. "That masked villain, the Phantom of the Opera himself, is not only a murderer, but a kidnapper, a blackmailer, and a torturer. He is dangerous, Mademoiselle, and we warn you because we have seen him at work."

"You have," she repeated tonelessly, with a slightly distant look in her cool gray eyes.

"We have," Raoul confirmed. "We have even been his victims, and perhaps his most grievously scarred victims because he attempted to crush our love with his own tyrannical fixation. When Christine was only a child, the death of her father left her an orphan. She was brought here by the ballet mistress, who was an old friend of her father's. She was taught to dance by Madame Giry during the day, and to sing by the Phantom at night. He knew that she had no parents to care for her, so he took advantage of her vulnerability and innocence. He did not appear to her, but threw his voice so she could hear him as clearly as you hear me now, as if he were some guiding spirit.

"Christine's father had told her stories when she was a child. Their favorite character had been the Angel of Music, who would speak to children, giving them prodigious musical talent. Charles, her father, had told her while he was on his deathbed that he would send her the Angel of Music after he died. The Phantom," he said, indignantly, "told my wife that he was that promised Angel, and she believed him with all her heart, since she was a child and, therefore, rather credulous.

"He made her voice unearthly, but he had also planted himself within her mind, trying to make her obey his every command, no matter how great or small. Meanwhile, he plotted to make her his bride.

"He is very ugly, Mademoiselle. He is so ugly that even his mother couldn't love his face." Here, Christine noticed a definite flash of anger in Danielle's eyes. This ire was rather difficult to logically explain. Was it resentment that the Phantom had never told her of this deformity, or did she feel insulted on the Phantom's behalf? If she was angry because of the former, the girl was a dunce. If it was because of the latter, she was extraordinary.

"He ended up in some gypsy carnival," Raoul continued with a much more compassionate voice, very aware that he was, in fact, speaking of the treatment of a human being. "He was being displayed like some freak of nature. People paid a few centimes to see him beaten." Now the gray-eyed soprano was definitely furious and, from the size of her eyes, shocked that someone would treat him so badly for so little. Christine's notion that Danielle was extraordinary was confirmed in this reaction; she _had _been offended just now when Raoul called the Phantom ugly.

"Madame Giry was a ballerina then, and unmarried. She saw the 'show,'" he added with a disgusted tone, "and helped him escape. He was just a child. She didn't think he was more than ten years old.

"He began to live in the cellars of the opera house. He learned it like the back of his hand, and then he began to manipulate the people in it, as well as the building itself. Once he had grown, he demanded a private box and twenty-thousand francs a month for the 'advice' he would give concerning the performances. If the managers didn't follow his commands to the letter, he would make something terrible happen," Raoul said ominously. "Backdrops would fall in the middle of rehearsal, things would go missing, props would be damaged. Sometimes people would end up hurt or frightened out of their wits."

And so it went. Raoul didn't leave out a single detail of their acquaintance with the Phantom of the Opera. While he was telling the tale, Christine stayed out of it. She just couldn't bring herself to help do this to her former mentor, even if she did think that the girl had a right to know who her teacher was. Instead of saying a word, she studied the Phantom and the girl in turn.

There wasn't much to see as far as the Phantom was concerned. At some of the most disturbing parts, he would turn around apprehensively to catch a glimpse of Danielle's reaction, and then go back to his previous position of abject despair. As for Danielle, there wasn't much to see, either, but it was that fact that had left Christine so perplexed. She never flinched once. She never even moved a muscle. She asked no questions. Nothing betrayed her emotions in any way whatsoever. If Danielle's eyes had not seemed so alert and attentive, Christine would have wondered if she had been transformed into a pillar of salt by simply listening to these terrible transgressions. Danielle was becoming more and more impressive by the second.

Once Raoul came to the end of his narrative, he said, "So, you see, Mademoiselle, you are in great danger. You must not trust this man, no matter how great his talent. He will only lead you to your destruction. I will see that you are free from him, forever."

"What do you plan on doing, Monsieur," Danielle queried with an enigmatically quirked eyebrow.

"I will call the gendarmes immediately and have him arrested," Raoul assured her.

"He will escape, Monsieur," she stated simply. Danielle walked over to the Phantom, turned him around, and said very plainly, more to him than to anyone else, "And I with him."

The Opera Ghost's head suddenly snapped up, so taken aback that he didn't notice a tear role down his exposed cheek. He looked down at her with absolute wonder, as if he had never seen anything so beautiful and fantastic throughout all of his life and did not expect that he would again. Clearly, he had not expected such a development.

"Mademoiselle D'Artoi," Raoul choked out, "do you have any idea of what you are suggesting?"

"Yes, I do," she answered, confidently. "He is my teacher and, above all, my friend. If he leaves, I go with him. And don't bother Madame Giry or the Persian for information of our whereabouts; they won't know."

"I just told you that he is a murderer," Raoul said with obvious exasperation, his face turning red with frustration and anger.

"You didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, or had not already surmised," Danielle told him, evenly.

"You already knew," the Phantom asked with a quavering voice, speaking for the first time since she had joined them.

"Of course, I knew. I'm not a fool," she muttered with a little hostility, though it was hard to tell exactly at whom the last sentence was directed. Christine had the distinct impression that it was meant for the benefit of both men.

"Pardon me," Raoul interjected, "but it _is_ rather foolish to take voice lessons from a man you knew had killed before."

"Monsieur," Danielle said impatiently, "I have seen no reason at all not to trust him. He is a changed man. Undoubtedly, all of that business with you and your wife knocked some proper sense into him."

At this, she gave the Phantom an accusatory glare under which he looked appropriately ashamed. However, after she faced Raoul again, the Phantom returned to the dreamy, love-struck attitude he had taken upon hearing her come to his defense. Obviously, the girl had nothing to worry, unless she tried to run off with some man. That would definitely be a problem, but, from the looks of things, Christine didn't think it would be an issue.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," Danielle resumed, "if a man is to be judged, he must be judged by his _peers_. You are not his peer. You have no idea what it is like to be in his position. Do you know what it is to be spurned all of your life? To reach out for love from another human being and get kicked every time, instead? Do you know how it feels to be faced with the prospect of being alone and unloved for the rest of your life?"

Raoul had no answer for this rather significant question. He merely stared back at her, wishing he didn't have yield to her point, but mentally recognizing it as a fact all the same.

"I'm sure you understand loneliness and sorrow, Madame," Danielle acknowledged, "but you don't, Monsieur. I imagine that you got a taste of it while you believed that your wife was in danger, but you have never been as totally alone as he has. As I have," she added, quietly. "We weren't all born with silver spoons in our mouths, Monsieur, only you. He never had wealth and power as an advantage, nor a perfect nose and perfect cheeks to make people more sympathetic.

"In fact, no one is his peer. No human being is as tragic, as talented, as brilliant, or as inventive as he is. Therefore, no one, except God, has the right to judge him," she declared. "He deserves to live in peace because he truly _has_ changed.

"How can you possibly know that," Raoul sputtered.

"He must have because I don't know the man you speak of," Danielle argued. The man I know isn't violent, or malicious, or deceitful. The man I have known for the last four months is kind, gentle (though a bit suspicious), witty (if a little morbid), amusing, charming, thoughtful, and incredibly over-protective (which I say in the most flattering sense). He has helped me in ways that I had never imagined he would when I first met him, and I don't just mean with my voice. He took me in when I didn't really have anywhere else to go. He was my friend when I had almost no one. I trust him with my life."

"It still doesn't change the fact that he treats the women he is in love with abominably," Raoul reasoned.

"Ah, Monsieur, I must correct you," Danielle cut in. "By saying that I should fear him because he treats the women he is in love with badly, you are implying that he is in love with me, but I can tell you with some amount of confidence that this particular assumption is unfounded."

The Phantom arched his eyebrows and crossed his arms, which made Christine giggle, momentarily drawing Danielle and Raoul's annoyed faces upon herself. Apparently, the Phantom wasn't as confident about his "lack" of love for the girl as she was.

"Still, Mademoiselle," Raoul said, addressing Danielle, "if you ever see his face, you won't be able to shake it off and say, 'He is my friend; it doesn't matter.'"

"Actually, she's already seen my face," the Phantom interrupted with great satisfaction, causing great consternation on Raoul's part. He seemed to relish her husband's discontent.

"I didn't see anything very disturbing about it," Danielle said with a shrug. "In fact, I'm quite used to it because he hardly wears his mask at all around me."

"I would still feel better about all of this, if I knew that he was in jail where he couldn't do anymore harm," Raoul grumbled.

"Monsieur, you owe him too much to throw him to the gendarmes," Danielle avowed, looking almost amused by the idea, as if she were privy to some mystifying secret that no one else in the room knew. It looked like her teacher didn't understand either.

"What do you mean?"

"Monsieur, did you say you became reacquainted with Madame la Vicomtesse after her debut as the leading soprano?" Raoul nodded. "Who do you think was responsible for that debut? If he hadn't trained her, do you think that your wife would have gotten out of the chorus? Would you have noticed her if she hadn't?"

"I might not have," he reluctantly agreed. "But he wasn't all that benevolent," he said, his voice gaining strength. "He almost didn't let Christine go."

"But he did let her go," Danielle pointed out. "He did let her go with you…but he didn't have to. If he were the heartless man you would like to believe him to be, he would have killed you and taken her without a thought. A man in desperate solitude would do anything to have company," she said, sounding as if she was speaking from experience, "even if it means making the woman he loves miserable. He had the power to end his seclusion. He had you in a corner that you couldn't get out of, but he chose to show you mercy, even when she had agreed to become his wife. Even after she swore by her salvation that she would be his, he let you both go," she said emphatically. "And what do you think caused this change? A kiss on the forehead and a few tears for him. No, he is not a monster. And you owe him your happiness," she concluded. "What are you going to do?"

"We're going to leave," Christine answered for him. Raoul was about to protest, but his wife silenced him. "We're going to leave them alone, and I don't want to hear another word about it. All of your arguments have been exposed as faulty." She went to the door, opened it, and called out to her husband, "If you want to stay, you will walk home because I'm taking the carriage right now."

Raoul finally left with a little, agitated bow, leaving them alone. Christine only hoped they would figure out how much they loved each other soon. It would be so nice to know that her former teacher would have a happy ending.

**A/N: A centime one one-hundredth of a franc. One dollar would equivalent to about five francs, so one cent was equivalent to about five centimes. If you allow for inflation, you can see that Erik may have been "viewed" for as little as half-a-penny per person, usingthe current rate of American currency. I can't really give details to people who don't go by one of those two currencies. **

**A/N: I hope you all picked up on the fact that, in my version of the story, I decided that Christine and Raoul did not know Erik's name, like in the ALW musical. I'm a little offended that ALW didn't use his name because it is dehumanizing, but I kept it because it makes Danielle even more special, since she actually cared enough to learn his true identity. **

**A/N: Obviously, I was going with the Leroux version of "The End of the Ghost's Love Story." I find it very touching. **


	20. Chapter Twenty: A Tragic Tale Concluded

**Disclaimer: I don't own Erik or his life-story. I would marry him, if he asked me, but you probably already knew that.**

Chapter Twenty: A Tragic Tale Concluded

**Erik**

Just minutes later, Erik was leading Danielle back to their lair in the cellars. _Strange_, he mused. _As soon as that little Vicomte started his story, I thought I would never have the opportunity to make this journey with Danielle again. For that matter, I thought I would never have the opportunity to come this way by myself. _

All truth be told, he wasn't exactly leading Danielle anywhere. It was more like stumbling along in front, hardly realizing where he was going, while Danielle pulled him in the right direction when his feet wandered off the path toward home. Eventually they _did_ end up at the correct location, and he fell into the nearest chair in the den.

Danielle sat down as well, though she managed to do so with much more grace. _How does she stay so composed_, Erik wondered as he stared fixedly at her, his mind just barely capable of coherent thought. Obviously, it was because she had discovered, or had guessed, everything she had been told. Nothing was new to her, so why _should _she be stunned?

"How did you know all of those things," he rasped, his voice as unsteady as the rest of him.

"I didn't _know_ all of them," Danielle replied, leaning against the back of her chair in an infuriatingly relaxed manner. "For instance, I didn't _know_ you were a murderer. That involved a little deduction on my part, as well as the whole business with the Vicomtesse. The only parts of the whole story I knew to be fact was his description of your face, your identity as the Phantom of the Opera, and your genius, though I had no idea you had found such…creative… ways of using it as creating that torture chamber you kept Nadir and the Vicomte in."

All of these sentences were spoken in such a way that anyone who couldn't speak French would have assumed that she was explaining what she had bought that day at the market. All foreigners would have imagined that this stream of speech consisted of "I bought a loaf of bread because I didn't know we still had some, and I thought that a few apples might be refreshing."

"Then how did you guess the rest," he asked, puzzled beyond words.

"I knew almost as soon as I came here that you were dangerous," she stated serenely. "The way people feared you, I knew there had to be some truth in it. At first, I was inclined to be skeptical, but they all acted as if you were the Devil himself. A few practical jokes wouldn't earn you that kind of reputation, so I assumed that you must have hurt, possibly even killed, someone at some point."

"Then why did you trust me?"

"I trusted you because I believe in second chances. When I meet someone, as far as I'm concerned their slate is clean. The sins of the past don't matter. Also, and you might think this sounds crazy, but I just felt like I was supposed to be the one to give you that second chance. You could call it a hunch, or fate, or whatever, but I thought that it was very important that I accept your offer.

"As for the business with the lady," she continued, "I didn't know who she was, when it happened, or how it happened, until tonight. I could tell from the way you acted in that old, abandoned dressing-room that you had a past, a painful past, with one of its former occupants. I figured that it must have been with a female because it was so obviously decorated for a woman in mind. When I walked into that same room and saw the Vicomtesse, I knew who that woman was. I had already inferred that there had been some tragedy, and the Vicomte merely gave me the details.

"I had figured out," she cleverly continued, "that Marie Giry had done something monumental for you because she had mentioned earlier that she was a friend of yours. The only other person who calls you a friend saved your life.

"Really," she resumed after a pause, "all the new information I gleaned from that lecture was the bit about the gypsies and the fact that you had caused the fire that had burnt down most of the Populaire."

"I just don't understand how you could have linked all of that together in the past few months, and then be willing to live here," Erik said, as if she had presented him with an overwhelming problem that he believed he would never fix.

"I told you already," she pointed out like she would to a child. "I wanted to give you a second chance."

"If you knew half of what I've done, you wouldn't call that a _second_ chance," he sighed. "That wouldn't even by my thousandth."

"Well, Christ said that we should forgive people seventy times seven times," Danielle assured him. "Since no one could possibly keep track of that many wrongs, he was trying to say that we should never stop forgiving. You haven't even wronged me once, so there wasn't actually anything to forgive."

"I kept things from you," he muttered, ashamed of the information he had held back, information she had been entitled to know. "In fact," he said with determination, "I think I should hold nothing back now that you know so much."

Danielle tried to tell him that it was none of her business, but he insisted that she know the type of man he used to be. They both settled back for a long tale, Danielle holding his hand in an effort to encourage him.

He told her everything, and through it all she never once let go. He told her about how miserable his life had been with his parents, and how they had feared that they had given life to the devil's spawn, or one of his demons. Danielle had been especially irate because of this. She told him that she considered him one of God's greatest blessings for her.

Erik told her about his escape from his mother and father, and how he had been caught in the woods by some traveling gypsies who had set up camp. He detailed the horrors he had suffered at their hands: beatings, public humiliation, and starvation. He grudgingly admitted that he had learned much from them in the way of slight-of-hand, which had served him well, but said bitterly that it was very poor compensation. He went on to tell about his escape from the gypsy caravan with the help of Marie, one of the only people who had ever shown him mercy.

This opened a new chapter in his life, he told her. He had finally gained a friend and a home away from prying eyes and the judgment that came with them. He had grown to love this hideaway, this palace of creativity. His brilliant imagination had finally had a place to assert itself and flourish. He learned how to read French with Marie's help, and then taught himself to read music. He studied architecture and science, performance and composition. When he was nearing manhood (he thought he was about seventeen, though he couldn't be sure), he had decided that he wanted to see the world, nearly forgetting that his face would always be a barrier. He traveled to the East, where he would at least be seen as an eccentric Westerner, making his mask less of a curiosity. He went to almost every country on the map, and picked up almost every language he encountered.

Eventually his travels had led him to Persia. Here he took a position as royal architect and general court entertainer. He had also been given a few more shady tasks, such as devising new and painful methods of torture, one of the royal family's favorite pastimes. He had not only devised them, he said, but he had taken some sort of insane pleasure testing them on human beings, though, to be fair, none of them were exactly innocent. His heart had been filled with almost nothing but hatred for mankind then. Humanity hated him, cursed him, and abused him, so he just hated, cursed, and abused right back. He then told her all about the palace he had designed and the shah's orders to have him killed after its completion. Then, Danielle finally became acquainted with the details of his life-debt to Nadir, a murky subject which had always held great interest for her. After all of that business, he finally made his way back to France and back to the opera house, leaving behind him the darkest period of his life, as well as many corpses as evidence of his skill. This, he believed, had been part of the ease with which he had escaped. They thought he was alive, but no one wanted to be the one to look for him, lest he find himself at the wrong end of Erik's Punjab lasso.

He was around twenty-four or five then, and he had already begun to weary of his hazardous, malignant existence. A matter of days after his arrival, a little girl named Christine Daae made her home in the opera house. At first, things had been innocent enough. She was lonely and grieving; he was lonely and despairing. They both needed a friend, and Erik had been more than willing to become hers. He listened to her pray in the chapel, asking her father to hurry up and send her the Angel of Music. He had seen his opportunity and had taken it. All he had wanted to do was comfort the poor thing, so he lied. It wasn't until much later, after he had offered to give her voice lessons to be precise, that he had realized that his pity had turned to something deeper. He had nurtured her voice until it was more beautiful than any other sound generated by a human being (besides him, she had pointed out, though he hadn't really considered himself human at the time). Music had always been his greatest comfort, never leaving him. Naturally, music had led him to his first love.

It was then, at the time that she had turned thirteen that his obsession began to emerge. He developed a crazy idea of making her fall in love with him and of making her his wife. He had been troublesome for the management before then, but he became even more problematic after this notion took root. Danielle had already heard the rest from there. He had been driven mad by his love and had been willing to do almost anything to achieve his goal.

Once all that was over and done with, he had taken refuge at a monastery. A year later he had returned to the opera house. It wasn't until Erik came to know Danielle that he learned to live again. After he had begun lessons with her, he had finally been able to forget Christine. Now, he was free of that terrible love.

By the end of this narrative, Erik could no longer hold back his tears, and neither could Danielle. When she saw the heaving sobs he was suppressing, she flung her arms around his neck. He hesitantly wrapped his around her waist and buried his face in her soft hair.

All at once, Danielle began to sing into his ear. The melody wasn't operatic, or even very beautiful, but it was impressive, nonetheless. It was a simple folk song, one that she had probably learned during her time at school in the country. She made it powerful despite its simplicity.

_Sing me to sleep, the shadows fall,_

_Let me forget the world and all._

_Tired is my heart, the day is long,_

_Let it soon come to evensong._

_Sing me to sleep, your hand in mine,_

_Our fingers as in prayer entwine;_

_Only your voice, love, let me hear,_

_Singing to tell me you are near._

_Love, I am lonely,_

_Years are so long,_

_I want you only,_

_You and your song;_

_Dark is life's shore, love, _

_Night is so deep,_

_Leave me no more, love, _

_Sing me to sleep._

_Sing me to sleep, with you alone,_

_Stay with me and remain my own,_

_Gladly my heart will know no pain,_

_When I awake from sleep again._

_Sing me to sleep and let me rest,_

_Of all the world I love you best._

_Nothing is faithful, nothing is true,_

_In Heav'n or earth, but God and you._

_Love, I am lonely, _

_Years are so long._

_I want you only,_

_You and your song,_

_Dark is life's shore, love,_

_Night is deep,_

_Leave me no more, love, _

_Sing me to sleep._

Once her song was finished, Erik pulled away, his tears finally dried. He could scarcely look her in the eye from embarrassment because he had wept in her presence, and because he was afraid she would see how much he wished she had meant those words. He, eventually, raised his head and stammered an apology for his behavior.

"Don't be silly, Erik," she whispered, still shaken from their fit of crying. "It doesn't matter to me."

That said, she pulled his head down closer to hers and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and then turned around, heading for her bedroom. Erik just stared after her, too bewildered to move.

He knew that she had kissed him before; Nadir had made that clear. But that was the first time she had ever done it while he was awake.

**Danielle**

Danielle had much to reflect upon as she readied for bed. She hadn't thought it was possible to love Erik more than she had before hearing his life story, but it was obvious to her now that she had been terrifically mistaken. She had never believed that she could be so moved by compassion, either. Her heart was breaking for him. All she wanted to do was heal his wounds.

Finally under the covers, she could scarcely sleep because she was so grieved by Erik's story. She wished that she could have come into his life sooner. If she had been in Christine's place all those years ago, Erik's love story would have ended on a much happier note for everyone.

Christine. Now she knew what glorious vision had captured Erik's mind for so long. Really, it came as little surprise when she had realized why the Vicomtesse de Chagny was standing in that dressing-room with Erik, of all people. She was truly beautiful with her long golden hair piled gracefully on top of her head and the blue satin of her dress clinging to her form. Danielle also knew of her reputation as one of the greatest singers in the history of France, though she had enjoyed a very short career. Part of that repute was most likely due to the brevity of her time as prima donna, adding romance to an already astounding talent.

Although, Danielle sincerely wished that she could hate Christine, she found that she couldn't. This wasn't because of her natural aversion for true hate, but because she had seen kindness in her crystalline blue eyes. There had been pity there, and hope for a brighter future for Erik. She hadn't wanted to break his heart. Danielle felt an odd pity for Christine. It must have been a terrible decision: to either break her teacher's heart, or that of the man she loved, as well as her own. Her thoughts of the pair were tinged with regret; in a way, she wished that she hadn't known their relationship to Erik. She had been curious before, but now she knew what memory she had to compare herself with.

Some good _had_ come from that night, despite its melancholy: she now knew that Erik was free to love someone else. Perhaps Clytie would have her Helios, after all.

**A/N: The song Danielle sings in this chapter is called "Sing Me to Sleep." The composer is Edwin Greene and the lyrics are by Clifton Bingham. I wouldn't swear that this fits the time-period, so call it poetic license. **

**A/N: According to Greek mythology, Clytie was a maiden who loved Helios, the sun-god, but he didn't love her. This was strange because usually in these stories, the girl resisted the god. Things didn't go well for women who were loved by gods. For instance, Zeus' mistresses always had to suffer terrible punishments from his wife, Hera. In any case, Clytie loved Helios so much that she went outside and watched him pull the sun across the sky all day long. Eventually, she was transformed into a sunflower. Danielle practically worships Erik, and she has no idea that he worships her, hence the reference to a woman whose love wasn't requited. **


	21. Chapter Twenty One: Delicate Matters

**Disclaimer: I am so tired of these.**

**A/N: This was the hardest chapter to write. For weeks I had trouble figuring out where it was going. As you can see, it had a number of directions. It also ended in a way I hadn't intended, but it just felt right when I wrote it. Unfortunately, now I may have to do a lot tweaking when it comes to the outline I have for the rest of the story.**

**A/N: I have churned this out so quickly to celebrate the end of this school year. I am now a senior in high school. I just hope I didn't fail my Pre-Cal final. I never should have taken Algebra 1 a year early. Anyway, that's enough of my self-pity. A new chapter for everyone! **

Chapter Twenty-One: Delicate Matters

**Erik**

The run of _Robert le Diable _closed a week later without any other incident. Christmas was close upon the city, so the management closed for the remainder of the year. This gave everyone time to recoup before a new season and the new production. The first production was always the greatest because that would be the most memorable. Almost every lover of music went to the first opera of the season, even if they didn't see any others. Every member of the company needed to be at their best, so a long rest was the perfect gift.

Fortunately for Erik, he had finished Danielle's Christmas present by this time, so he didn't need to hide any of his doings from her. He was ready to spend every day in lessons, but, much to his displeasure, Danielle was prepared to spend more time than usual in her bedroom. She slept very late every day and went to bed very early every night. Erik was beginning to worry about her health; she had never required this much rest before. Danielle insisted that nothing was wrong, but Erik was unsure. He could tell that she was losing patience with his concern, so he eventually ceased to press her, but the concern would not pass.

His spirits still managed to remain high. For the first time in his entire life, Erik knew that he wouldn't be spending Christmas alone. He wouldn't be holed up in his bedroom wishing that the world would simply end so he would never need to face such solitude in a normally joyous time. No, this year he would have company, and what company! He would spend Christmas with the greatest singer in France, the woman of his dreams.

Erik was also looking forward to the new opera season. It would be glorious. The managers were bound to give Danielle all the leads after _La Cenerentola._ They couldn't possibly ignore her any longer. She was already the talk of all the Parisian drawing-rooms. Soon, everything would be perfect.

**Danielle**

Danielle had been working feverishly for weeks to get Erik's gift finished. She wanted to get done early so she could spend more time with him while she could. She couldn't wait to see his face when she gave it to him. He would be so surprised when he realized what it was! It would be priceless.

Danielle decided to make a visit to Madame Giry. They hadn't really had time to speak for more than five or ten minutes at a time, usually in a hall on their way to their respective living quarters. Marie seemed a little wary of the subject of Erik, but it was impossible to tell whether this was because she didn't want to be overheard, or because she felt awkward discussing him. The fact that they had been living together for several months must have scandalized her sense of propriety, but she appeared to understand the necessity and the safety of the arrangement.

Danielle sincerely hoped she understood. If she didn't, Danielle could expect an ear full on just that subject. Marie often felt that she needed to be a mother-figure for Danielle since she had lacked one all her life. Yes, Danielle could expect that topic to come up. Oh, the joy.

**Madame Giry**

Seated in Marie's quarters, Danielle was all smiles. Marie couldn't imagine what could have caused so drastic a change in the girl before her. Before Erik had swooped back into their lives, Danielle had been a wilting, depressed flower, desperately in need of sunshine. Now, the young lady perched lightly upon the loveseat was almost unrecognizable.

Gone was the chalk in her cheek. Danielle was vibrant. No longer melancholy, Danielle's eyes were laughing. She had bloomed in the darkness. How could a girl thrive in a cave with only the company of a brooding, dark-hearted man? Surely, not even music could create this transformation. And, she wondered, what was Erik like now that he was under Danielle's effervescent influence every day?

"Danielle, my dear," Marie began, "how have you been these last months?"

"Well," Danielle answered, "you already know about the upswing in my career. That was particularly exciting."

Ah, so it was this sudden success that made her so light-hearted.

"I see. That would certainly thrill anyone, especially someone who has worked so diligently for it," Marie told her with sincere warmth.

"I'm not sure that I'm even the one who has worked the most for my career," Danielle laughed. "I owe more to Erik than I could ever repay."

Well, at least Marie wouldn't have to bring up the subject herself.

"I know. Erik can be a difficult task-master."

"Not as much as you, Madame," Danielle joked, dipping into a little mock-bow. "The honor of most dictatorial teacher belongs entirely to you."

"I thank you," Marie replied with a formal inclination of her head. "How has Erik been? I haven't seen or heard from him since he whisked you away to the underworld."

At this, Danielle colored a little, strangely shy to discuss her time in the cellars. _Perhaps it isn't success that's gone to her head, after all._

"Erik is…Erik. There is almost no other way to describe him," she stuttered.

"Surely there is some other epithet you could give him," Marie teased. "I can think of several: arrogant, pretentious, gloomy…the list goes on and on."

"Marie," Danielle said, feigning shock. "Really, how can you say such things about a dear friend of ours, even if they are true?"

"How would you describe him," Marie countered.

For a moment, Danielle's eyes became glassy, distant, and even pensive. Marie would have given almost anything to know what was going on inside the younger woman's head. There was something so wistful about her face that Marie's curiosity was positively killing her to find the meaning of that enigmatic smile tugging at the corners of Danielle's rosy cheeks.

Finally Danielle spoke. "He isn't like he used to be, Marie," she said softly. "At first he was cold, but now I feel as if his smile is brighter than the sun. He used to be mournful, but now he laughs and teases me all the time. He no longer hides anything from me. I'm stunned by his openness, his generosity. I can't begin to tell you how it feels to be in his presence every day."

Marie, too, was stunned. She had expected to hear that Erik was the same as he had always been, just as menacing as she remembered. It was strange to learn that he was so _normal _with this girl. He even sounded charming. Maybe she had done the right thing, helping him meet Danielle. She detected nothing wrong. Obviously, Danielle was happy with her dark companion. _Good for you, Erik_, she thought to herself once Danielle was safely out of the room. _It's about time you both fell in love._

**Danielle**

Danielle was making her brisk way towards the main foyer. Everyone believed that she had moved into a small apartment on the Rue Scribe. That was the story she fabricated to draw suspicion away from the fact that she no longer resided in the opera house. Now she was on her way out the entrance where she would round a corner. Once she knew that no one was watching her, she would duck into the secret passage that lead straight to the lake. From there it would be childishly easy to find her home.

Normally this journey was easy, but today it was not. Before she made it the grand entrance (or exit, in her case), she was stopped by a timid ballerina.

Her little hands twisting her tutu, this little dancer, who couldn't have been more than fourteen years old, piped, "Someone is here to see you, Mademoiselle."

"Who is it," Danielle asked in the kindest of tones.

"He said...he said he was your father," the girl squeaked.

A feeling of dread settled into the pit of Danielle's stomach. She had known that this would happen, eventually. Someday her father would have to stick his long nose in this Latrec business. Of course, he would come here and embarrass her. She had never given her father her fictitious address. The only place he would know to look would be the opera.

Her displeasure must have been apparent because the ballerina's knees were quaking dreadfully. No doubt the administration had warned every man, woman, and child to be wary around the new prima donna. Primas became divas in short order.

"Thank you, dear," Danielle said sweetly. "I'll go see him right away."

At that moment, all Danielle wanted to do was go back to the cellars and spend some time with Erik, but filial duty called. _What will Father say today?_, she wondered as she turned on her heel toward the dressing-rooms. It would probably be some of the usual nonsense about her responsibility to the family.

Her temper was flaring by the time she gripped the doorknob and glided into the room, reminding herself that she had risen above her father's station. She was _the _leading soprano at _the_ leading opera house of France. She wouldn't be brow-beaten by her father.

Her righteous anger died ever so slightly when her stormy, gray eyes met his stern, unforgiving, blue ones. It never failed to astound her that she was the offspring of this cold, unbending man. There are some things even she couldn't get used to, and this concept was one of them. She softly shut the door, hoping that no one would walk by and overhear this conversation. She didn't think her pride could survive such mortification.

Jean D'Artoi surveyed his daughter from his seat on her sofa as she settled herself on the rickety chair in front of her vanity mirror. Danielle knew that she looked just like her mother, a fact she hoped wounded him deeply as she glowered at him. Her face was statuesque in its contempt. She would give her father nothing but stony disapproval in answer to whatever he said to her.

"Danielle," he began after a pause, "surely you must have wits enough to understand the situation. It could not have possibly escaped your notice that a friend of your brother's has paid great attention to you in these last few weeks."

"It certainly has not escaped my notice," Danielle retorted unconcernedly. "The man has been more than a little worrisome. I can scarcely shake the dandy off every night. What is your point," she asked with marked suspicion.

"My point is that there is a reason for his attention," D'Artoi snapped.

"Which is…?"

"He wishes to gain your affection, which you _will_ give him," her father practically warned.

Danielle laughed gaily, though sarcastically. "Why ever would I do that? I can't bear to be around Latrec. I would sooner find affection for you than he."

"You will give him your affection, no matter how false, because it is very important for your family that you do," he barked.

"It is," she asked innocently, and then with pathos, "How much would he give you for me?"

"Fifty thousand francs," Jean answered bluntly. He seemed pleased that she had finally become sensible about the matter. Danielle, however, was deeply wounded. She had never really tried to deny her family's true motive for this match. To be honest, she hadn't expected Latrec to offer them that much. Of course, her father would have sold her to a prospective husband for five thousand, maybe less. Fifty thousand must have seemed like manna from Heaven to the greedy wretch.

"Well," she retorted, holding tears of both anger and hurt, "perhaps I don't care if he'll give you any money for my… 'affections.' What then?"

"You will obey me," her father growled. That fierce, bestial tone in his voice made Danielle suddenly remember all those days in her childhood when his rough hands had bruised her tender skin. Still, not even the threat of another beating could make her agree to the unholy union he was proposing. She wouldn't marry for money; she was above that. Besides, she always thought of Erik when marriage crossed her mind. She was prepared to wait for him until she expired, even if he died first.

"I will not obey you, dear father," she spat.

"You will do what is best for your family," he snapped. "You owe your brother and me too much to refuse us this. You killed Luc's mother," he reminded.

"She was my mother, too," Danielle choked out, sobs burning her throat as she attempted to keep them at bay. This confrontation was too much for her. The shaft had hit the mark. She rushed from the room, running wildly toward the safety of the cellars.

Erik was understandably furious when he heard what had passed between Danielle and her father. He couldn't comprehend how evil the man was if he was willing to sell his daughter for so little.

"How much would you demand for me," Danielle teased once she had calmed down.

"Every centime to Latrec's name for starters," he assured her. "And his eternal soul," he added.

"I wouldn't want it," Danielle muttered, disgustedly.

"I would," Erik told her, sincerely. "The first thing I would do with his soul is send it to Hell where it belongs."

"Would you really do that," Danielle asked, suddenly a little frightened (and a little attracted) by his flashing eyes.

"I would do worse if I could," Erik answered. "There is no punishment too harsh for a man who wishes to harm you."

Danielle believed every word of what he claimed he would do, given the chance. If felt oddly comforting to know he wanted to protect her. No one had ever had the need to defend her. She blushed, gazing into his hard eyes, which immediately softened.

"Thank you," was all she could say, not really sure of what she was thanking him for.

**Erik**

Christmas day finally arrived. Erik had been waiting almost breathlessly for the chance to give Danielle her gift. He idly tried to imagine what her reaction would be. Visions of Danielle throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him frantically danced around in his head. That wasn't the reaction he was expecting, but it was nice to dream.

All day, Erik was looking out for the perfect moment. They sang and ate to their hearts content. Of course, Erik was so nervous that he had trouble concentrating on the music, but they enjoyed a happy day. After dinner, as they were sitting by the fire in the study, Erik looked over at Danielle and knew that it was time.

"Danielle," he ventured, "would you like your present now?"

"Erik," she cried, "you shouldn't have gotten me anything."

"Oh, but I did," he announced, smugly. "Actually, I didn't technically _get_ you anything. I made it myself."

"Then I'm sure I'll love it," Danielle told him.

Erik disappeared for a moment and brought back a large package, wrapped in a deep crimson paper. He handed it to her, just as excited as she was to have it opened. Danielle glanced up at his barely controlled expression. Her curiosity was piqued. As she ripped away the paper and opened the box inside, she gasped with glee.

What she found was a shiny, black portfolio. This could be only one thing: sheet music. She eagerly turned the cover over to expose the name of the piece. The title _Cupid and Psyche_ proclaimed the theme of the work. It was an opera.

An opera by Octavian Gautier, Erik's pseudonym, would be the most celebrated production all season. His instruction had guaranteed success, but a lead in the debut of his creation would mean fame and glory. He wasn't sure if this possibility occurred to her, or whether she was just supremely grateful for his thoughtfulness, but he found her in his arms before he could blink. She then kissed his exposed cheek, giving him _almost _exactly what he had wanted for Christmas.

"I knew Cupid and Psyche was your favorite story," he said, pulling away from her.

Suddenly she dashed away from him, leaving him considerably bewildered. He heard the door to her bedroom open and shut. For a moment, Erik wondered if he had done something wrong, but he heard her coming back. There was a strange, rustling noise accompanying her. She came to the door, but didn't enter. It was obvious that she was hiding something.

"I made you a present, too," she said, shyly. "I'm afraid I couldn't wrap it up. I hope you won't mind." As she said this, she dragged his gift into the room. It was several feet of paper cranes sown together in a chain. She brought them over to where he was still seated on the sofa. He stood up and took them from her. "It's exactly one thousand."

"I don't think I can make a wish, since I didn't make the cranes," he muttered, embarrassed, but pleased by her gesture.

"I know," she admitted. "But I can make the wish for you. I've been planning this since I met you. I had to work frantically to get them finished in time. I wish that you will receive your heart's desire," she said softly, gazing at him with those astonishingly beautiful eyes.

Erik's breath caught in his throat. How could she possibly understand what she had just wished? How could she know that _she_ was his heart's desire? The poor girl had, unwittingly, wished him herself. It was a good thing that Erik didn't believe in wishes, or he would have been very sorry for Danielle.

"Well, Danae," he declared, changing the subject to something more comfortable, "why don't we go see if you can sing the opera I wrote for you."

"Is that a challenge," she asked, cheerily.

"Of course," he responded, trying to match her attitude of gaiety. They walked arm-in-arm to the organ and began their rehearsal. Erik soon realized that this subject wasn't much more comfortable than discussing that wish. Every word he had never dared to say to Danielle was said in this opera. Every note of longing he felt for her was sounded. And what was worse, she insisted that he sing the part of Cupid, so he was forced to expose himself with every passionate syllable.

By the end of Cupid's song to Psyche in the second act, Danielle was weeping. She stared at him as she had done that night long ago when he had first brought her to his subterranean home. There was an almost wistful look of desire in that steady, trance-like gaze that made his heart pound against his ribcage. In that moment he knew it: she was his for the taking. He just had to find the best approach. Maybe there was some truth in that wish story, after all.

**A/N: At first, I planned to make Danielle give Erik a hand-written collection of mythological tales, all of which had a romantic ring to them that I thought might give Erik a hint of Danielle's true feelings. But then, we learned how to do paper cranes in school, and I decided that this would be the perfect gift. I'm afraid Danielle wasted a wish, though. Erik already had his heart's desire; he just didn't know it yet.**

**A/N: Erik discovering that Danielle was "his for the taking" was the end I hadn't planned. Originally, he was going to languish in his ignorance for another chapter at the very least, but somehow it slipped. I hope everyone enjoyed a whole lot of EOW in this installment.**


	22. Chapter Twenty Two: The Love of a Man

**Disclaimer: Own _The Phantom of the Opera_ I do not. Not mine is _La Cenerentola_. **

**A/N: Now that school is out, I vow to answer each and every review I get. Also, there are only a few chapters to go. I'll be going away for five weeks to study Creative Writing and Literature at a real college. I'm very excited. I'll leave in the middle of June. Hopefully, I'll have this phic finished by then. While there, I hope to get started on a Labyrinth fic that's been bouncing around in my head for some time. **

**A/N: Three cheers for impossibly long chapter titles!**

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Difference between the Love of a Brother and the Love of a Man

**Erik **

The Christmas season was gone far too soon for Erik's taste. It had been full of tender moments, but that didn't make it any easier to watch Danielle leave for rehearsals the first week of January. As he had anticipated, Danielle would be perfect for the role of Psyche in the opera he had written for her. They had spent hour after hour perfecting it, as well as _La Cenerentola_. Everyone was sure to be awed by Danielle's level of preparation. An eager prima donna was much more easily dealt with than a lazy one. There was no doubt in Erik's mind that Reyer would quickly realize the value of Danielle's talent and disposition. His loyalty would mean much to her career at the Populaire.

Of course, Danielle's absence wasn't a total loss. There were things he needed to buy that he didn't want her to know about just yet. He would, unfortunately, have to leave the opera house to purchase these important items, but he had created a few very realistic masks that would allow him to walk the streets of Paris unnoticed and, most importantly, undetected by unwanted personages, or more precisely, the _gendarmes_.

The third morning of rehearsals found Erik briskly striding towards his destination, a jeweler's shop on the Rue de St. Antoine. _Guillaume Olivier's Fine Jewelry_ was one of the most popular establishments in the Parisian jewelry trade. Anything bought from that shop would cost a great deal, but it would be worth every centime. Guillaume Olivier had impeccable taste in stones and metal. The wealthy could always count on _Olivier's_ for the best. Erik would have nothing but the best for his Danielle.

Erik stepped into the warm store from the icy cold of January, his cloak wrapped tightly around him to protect himself from the biting wind, and as a habitual precaution against prying eyes. He strode up to the counter and demanded to see the owner, Olivier himself. The excitable clerk took in the fine clothing and proud stance of this odd customer, immediately assuming Erik to be a noble. The mousy man darted into the back of the store, then reappeared with a kindly man bent with age.

"I am Olivier," the little, old man declared, squinting up into Erik's dark eyes. "What can I do for you, monsieur?"

"I wish to commission three rings," Erik answered respectfully, fully realizing what this man could do, or not do, for him. "An engagement ring and two wedding rings."

"Ah, getting engaged are you, young man," Olivier asked with a twinkle in his blue bright eyes. "Wedding jewelry is my favorite kind to make."

"Quite so," Erik answered noncommittally, pulling out a few papers from his jacket-pocket. "I have a few designs that should give you some idea of what I want, but feel free to make a few changes if you must." He handed them to Olivier, who began perusing them appreciatively.

"These are very good, monsieur," Olivier affirmed. "I see you want something modest, but stunning, like your young lady, hmmm?"

"Very like her," Erik said, reverently.

"I don't see why I couldn't reproduce these designs exactly," the jeweler noted. I could have them for you in six weeks. I would say that they will cost you about 6,000 francs for your wedding band, 5,000 for hers, and 15,000 for the engagement ring."

"I think that's a fair price," Erik agreed. Really and truly, he would have been willing to pay twice as much for three rings by Olivier. The name on the box alone would tempt a woman no matter how ugly the ring, or how awful the man.

"What name will I put this order under?"

"Octavian Gautier," Erik answered a little nervously. He had never actually introduced himself using his newest pseudonym, but he had imagined the looks he would get when it finally became necessary to use it. The man reacted in much the way Erik had expected. He started, nearly dropping the papers in his surprise at this information. No doubt he knew how very strange it was to have this reclusive composer waltz into his shop demanding an order for bridal jewelry.

"For you," Olivier amended, "I can have this done in three weeks."

"Thank you," Erik replied, gratefully. He wanted those rings in his pocket as soon as possible. "How quickly could you have the engagement ring finished?"

"In a week," Olivier assured him.

"That will be most satisfactory." Erik paid a small down-payment and swept out of the shop, the man's eyes burning into his back.

**Danielle**

Sometimes the new prima donna of the Opera Populaire was amazed at how fast her life was going by. Before she knew it, the opening gala of _La Cenerentola_ was approaching…or perhaps looming was a better word. The way Erik spoke of this next performance, anyone else would think he was planning to win a war with her as the only soldier. He expected her to single-handedly change the face of the Opera Populaire forever, as well as cement her future as the reigning diva. He, of course, claimed that she could do all of this with little effort, but Danielle was not so sure. The more she thought about the gala, the larger the butterflies in her stomach grew. Now they were the size of seagulls, and they would only grow larger.

Her nerves were bearable as long as Erik was helping her. He was there with her every step of the way, right up until the night of the performance, which saw the return of her absent admirer, Mathieu Latrec. This was a frustrating development to say the least. She had so hoped he had found some other rising star to pursue, but, apparently, Danielle was the only one in Paris at the moment. She even seemed to be dimming the brightness of Bianca Gambrino, the prima ballerina. The dark-skinned Italian had, until recently, been considered the most captivating member of the company with her perfect legs and nearly black eyes. Now, all of the male patrons were fawning over the silver-voiced, sweet-faced soprano.

Once opening night came, Danielle forgot all of her troubles as she took the stage. It was thrilling to be someone else for a little while, to completely become a character. The only thing more thrilling was the knowledge that everyone in the theater wanted to hear her sing, as could be seen from the round of applause that greeted her every entrance. When the performance was finished, she had to take four curtain calls. So it was every night. She basked in the glow of glory, while Erik reveled in the success of their plans. _La Cenerenola _ran over for two extra weeks at the command of the Administration of Fine Arts. Danielle's reputation was secure.

It was on the morning after the close of _La Cenerentola_ that Danielle found her brother in her dressing-room. His coming was only slightly less embarrassing than her father's appearance only weeks before. At least everyone already knew about Luc's "indiscretions." As soon as Danielle's talent had come to light, the rumors began about her unsavory brother. There really was no end to gossip.

Luc was currently reclining on the sofa, as if he were there every day, and right at home in his surroundings. His blue eyes, though very like his father's, were lazy, instead of steely, as they turned towards her. He was all impudence this morning, idle impudence, at that.

"Dear sister," he yawned as she sat down at her vanity and began applying a little unneeded powder to her cheeks to hide her annoyance, "I have been waiting ever so long for you to arrive."

"How long," Danielle asked without much interest, glancing at his reflection in the mirror.

"Twenty minutes," Luc exclaimed. "I was so bored, I almost fell asleep."

"Oh, I'm very sorry," she retorted with a little edge in her voice. "I do wish I had come earlier to enjoy your company. What, exactly, brings you here, anyway?"

"I have come to discuss a very important matter: Mathieu Latrec," Luc said solemnly, though his ironic tone didn't escape her.

"What about him," Danielle shot at him, after spreading a little rouge on her cheekbones. "He really doesn't interest me in the slightest, so if he is all you have come to discuss, I would rather you leave."

"Oh, come now, Danielle," Luc urged, "Surely you know that this must all be cleared up some time."

"What must be cleared up," she asked innocently.

"His regard for you," Luc replied in that oily manner that always put her on her guard.

"How does the dog regard me, dear brother?" She may have been checking her make-up, calmly, but her irritation was betrayed. The question had come through gritted teeth.

"You know very well how he regards you; don't act so ignorant," he spat, at last showing the venom he carried when he thought it would help him.

Danielle finally turned around in her seat, facing Luc. Her defiance was palpable as she declared, "Don't treat me like such a fool, Luc D'Artoi. I know what you and father are after. But I tell you this: I will not marry that shiftless womanizer you've been trying to throw in my face. I hate him with all that I am."

"Danielle," Luc chuckled, as if he was amused by her inexperience, "Latrec has no intention of marrying you."

"Then what _does_ he want," she snapped with exasperation.

"Why, to make you his mistress, of course," was the smug assurance.

All of the blood drained out of Danielle's face as the meaning of his words sank into her mind. So, that's what her loving family wanted of her. That's the debt they felt she owed them. That was what they thought of her virtue and honor. They wanted her to be Latrec's whore. They knew how she felt about such things, and this was their wish.

"I-I'll d-die first," she stammered, feeling sick.

"Don't you think you're being a bit over-dramatic, sister," he asked indulgently. "It really isn't all that bad. None of my mistresses have ever had pangs of guilt after I'd gotten through with them. It's all very pleasant; you'll see."

Suddenly, Danielle felt that she couldn't remain in the same room as her shameless brother any longer. But before she could leave, she had to get some of her own back. Though a little shaky on her feet, Danielle stood up, tall and proud, in front of Luc. She stepped towards him, hoping her strength would last, and then she smacked him with all of the force she could muster.

"You hit me," he stated pathetically, holding a hand to the red, irritated hand-print she had left on his cheek.

"Get out, you wretched low-life," Danielle screamed. "Get out before I call the gendarmes. I'll make sure you're never allowed in this building again."

Luc jumped to his feet and ran to the door. As he fled down the hall she yelled after him, "You'll be arrested if you come within a hundred feet of the door. You and Latrec. I hope you both choke on your champagne!"

Weeping, Danielle collapsed onto the sofa, satisfied that, at the very least, she had made the coward wet himself.

**Erik**

Unbeknownst to Danielle, Erik had been listening to the whole exchange, just as he had overheard her conversations with Latrec. His blood had begun to boil from the moment Latrec's name was dragged into Danielle's notice, but when Luc had made that disgusting remark about Danielle becoming Latrec's mistress, he had nearly crashed through the wall to wring Luc's neck. He had been frenzied by the cavalier attitude of the man attempting to sell his sister's virginity to the highest bidder.

His anger had turned quickly to desperation as he saw what that pronouncement had done to Danielle. He had been worried by her sickly-looking skin. He was sure she would faint.

And then, Erik looked on with shock and pride when she slapped her brother with everything she had in her. He had never seen her so angry, nor had he seen her raise her hand in violence. She was glorious, her threats superb. She was standing up for herself, and doing a good job of it, too.

Now, he was running down a passage that would open near her door. He only hoped no one else would come to see what was wrong with her. That could prove problematic. He or she would scream, and cause great commotion running through the opera, alerting everyone that the Opera Ghost had come back to haunt them. After that there would be searches of the cellars, mobs gathering to find him… Generally speaking, it would create a good deal of trouble for him.

Luckily, no one was around when Erik cautiously stepped out of the passage, and toward Danielle's dressing-room. She was still in the same position as before, sitting on the sofa, her face buried in her hands.

Erik gingerly made his way over to the weeping girl, fervently wishing that she didn't feel the need to cry every time her family dropped by. He was sympathetic, but there was only so much he could bear. It pained him greatly to see any woman cry. It was torture to see her doing it. He cleared his throat by way of telling her he was there.

Danielle lifted her head, managing to look both grateful for his presence and ashamed because she realized that he had heard her disgrace. He answered her questioning look with silent nod.

"What am I going to do, Erik," she asked miserably. "I've never _really_ defied my father. I always give into him in the end."

"You won't give in this time; I won't allow it," Erik assured her, crouching down in front of her. "You're too good for what they have in store. And I'm not just saying this as your teacher. I'm saying this as your friend," he said, raising a hand to wipe the tears off of her wet cheeks.

"I don't know anymore," Danielle whispered, not meeting his gaze. "If my own family thinks I'm worthless, I can't imagine what you see in me."

"I see everything good in the world," Erik declared, taking both her hands in his. "I love you, Danielle."

Danielle's bowed head suddenly snapped up to search his eyes, as if hunting for any sign that he meant, or didn't mean, what he had just said. Meanwhile, her own eyes were filling up with tears yet again, as well as a fearful sort of hope.

"Marry me, Danielle," Erik pleaded urgently. "I'll never expect anything of you. I'll do everything within my power to make you safe and happy," he promised. "All I want is to know that you'll be with me, that I'll never lose you."

Erik's heart was pounding as he reached into the coat pocket that contained the ring he carried with him everywhere he went. He opened the tiny box, displaying the solitaire diamond inside it. He heard Danielle's sharp intake of air. Erik's eyes never left hers throughout all of it.

"Oh, Erik," she breathed before throwing her arms around him. "I love you so much," she gasped through joyful sobs. "Of course I'll marry you."

Erik pulled away from her; it was his turn to ascertain the truth of her words. Danielle was beaming. Not even she could have feigned the love in those emerald pools.

**Danielle**

Danielle's heart was bursting with ecstasy at the thought that Erik, the man for whom her beat, love her, wanted her to be his wife. She had imagined and dreamed of this moment so many times, but she had never begun to imagine the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

In a daze, she realized that she and Erik were standing up and that he was slipping the small diamond ring onto her left ring-finger. It was very small, and the band was highly decorated with music notes. It was perfect for her dainty hand, and the notes represented their relationship and personalities completely.

When she glanced up, Danielle suddenly became aware of how very close they were. She found her gaze alighting on his lips, the lips that had never touched her in any way, not even her hand. They were close enough to touch, but still too far away for her, in her infinite modesty, to meet. She longed to kiss him, but couldn't bring herself to make the first move.

Danielle's eyes widened when she realized that Erik was closing in the gap.

**A/N: Gotta love cliff-hangers. **

**A/N: I finally got to honor Lawrence Olivier with a character! I love him. Too bad he's dead, and all. He was an awesome actor. Has anyone seen the really old version of Shakespeare's _As You Like It_ with Lawrence Olivier? The sets, acting and costumes were really bad, but Olivier made that movie worth it.**


	23. Chapter Twenty Three: Confrontations

**Disclaimer: I think I'll ignore this one. I seriously doubt that anyone with the copyrights on _The Phantom of the Opera_ would find it worth while to scour fanfiction sights to see who is taking credit for what they don't deserve, or trying to get anything out of me, for that matter. **

**A/N: Wow, it's amazing what you can get done when you don't have school to waste your time. Of course, I'm getting to the really good parts, so that might have something to do with it, but I haven't spent so much time writing on things I like in a long time.**

Chapter Twenty-Three: Productive Confrontations

**Erik**

Erik was caught in the grips of sensations unlike any he had ever before experienced. Everything he had ever dreamt of could be found in this moment. Passion, longing, wonder, hope, faith, and, most importantly, love were all bound up in this single, heart-stopping kiss.

He probably would have been thinking these very thoughts if he had still possessed the ability to think at all, which was not so. From the moment is eager lips had touched her soft, rosy ones, he had lost all cognitive functions. His brain had shut down everything but his senses, which were currently working like crazy. His body was trying to follow the last commands that his mind had given them: hold on and kiss her with all your might. His body, particularly his mouth, was only too happy to oblige.

Erik managed to put off the inevitable by gasping for air at regular intervals, but eventually the need for air became greater than his compulsion to go on like that forever, so he pulled away, panting. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, as Danielle's face came into view. Apparently, she had been as reluctant to break contact as he had been. She, too, looked distracted and disappointed. She also seemed a little embarrassed when she finally met his perplexed gaze.

"I hadn't really planned to do that," Erik confessed sheepishly. "It just happened." He was vaguely aware that this sounded trite, but he felt, in his confused mind, that he needed to explain why he had been so forward. _After all, you just don't go around kissing your vocal students…or do you?_ He couldn't really remember the correct protocol for this situation, if there ever was one to begin with. Everything seemed so far away now, as if his whole outlook on life had altered drastically.

Danielle laughed a silvery laugh that almost made "it" happen again, but Erik was able to control the impulse this time. "I love you, Erik," she repeated, leaning into his chest. Somehow, he hadn't noticed that neither of them had let go yet.

"Now what do we do," Erik asked, bewildered at the turn of events.

"I suppose we have to tell people that we're going to be married," Danielle replied dreamily. "Marie, Nadir, the managers, my father…What will he say, I wonder," she questioned thin air. "Probably something along the lines of, 'You're my daughter, and you'll go to whom I please.'"

"We don't have to tell him until after the wedding, do we," Erik suggested hopefully.

"I'm afraid we should," she muttered. "It'll only be worse for us, if we don't tell him, or rather, _I_ tell him."

"Why you, my love," Erik asked, wary of letting her see her father alone. It's not that he feared she would change her mind under her father's influence…actually, that's exactly what he was afraid of. He didn't want to take chances.

"I need to face him alone, Erik," Danielle stated with determination. "I have to finally shake him off myself."

"But, Danielle," he interjected.

"This is something I need to do. I promise, nothing will stand in our way," Danielle assured him, reading his mind perfectly. "I'll still be yours no matter what he says. I've waited for you to ask me to marry you for too long to give up on you, now that I have you in my clutches," she teased. Then Danielle became much more serious. "God meant me to meet you; I've known it from the start. He wants me to marry you. I have to confront my father on my own if that can happen. I must earn you. You don't want a coward for a wife, do you," she asked, again taking on her taunting attitude.

"Alright, Danae" Erik consented, "but I don't have to like it."

**Danielle**

The next day, Danielle sent word to her father to meet her at the opera. An hour later found her awaiting him in her dressing-room, pensively staring into space. She was thinking of all those time when Jean D'Artoi had ground her under his heel, silently steeling herself to come out the victor in the upcoming battle. This would be the most important battle of all. Whoever won this would win the war. If she held firm, she would be free of her father's outrageous demands forever. If she didn't, she would be his slave forever, always carrying out his commands, no matter how heinous. She could _not_ fail; hers wasn't the only future that would be decided by her resistance that day. She had to stay strong for Erik. Besides, she couldn't survive if she lost him, especially if it had been because she was unwilling to sacrifice for him.

Jean D'Artoi pushed open the door, confident that his daughter had, at last, given into his authority as her father. The pale cast of her skin was enough to reassure his doubts. She was obviously thinking of the fate that she would succumb to after this talk. He could almost feel his now empty pockets bulging with Latrec's money.

Danielle stood at his rather high-spirited entrance. She silently gestured to the sofa, offering him a seat, while she continued to stand. The soprano cleared her throat, reluctant to begin, but fully conscious of the necessity.

_God give me strength_, Danielle mutely prayed.

"Father," she said by way of a preamble, "I have asked you to come here because there is an issue important to us both that has yet to be resolved."

"I am aware of that," he answered smugly. "I trust that everything will be taken care of today?"

"Quite," Danielle said noncommittally. "The issue in question is, of course, Mathieu Latrec. He has, for some time, made it known that he is partial to me, but I have not returned his partiality in the least."

"Well, that isn't really required of you," Jean replied. "Latrec doesn't care if you like him, only that you please him when he wants you."

Danielle paled even more if that were possible. The conversation was going in the most mortifying of directions. She had to get the discussion back on track. Besides, she could almost sense Erik's displeasure. Her father was not likely to come out of this room uninjured if his suggestive talk continued. Not that she would have minded, but she didn't want Erik discovered.

"I don't doubt his apathy, but I should tell you that I have no intention of 'pleasing' Latrec as you so perversely term it," Danielle told him, her voice like ice.

Danielle folded her arms over her chest, and D'Artoi finally noticed the diamond glinting on her left hand.

Spluttering with outrage, he shouted, "What have you done, Danielle?" He pointed to her hand. "Who dared to give you that, and how did you dare accept it?"

Danielle glanced down at the ring Erik had put on her finger. "I have decided to marry, father," she answered with a dignified raise of her eyebrows, as if wondering what gave him the right to question her. "As to the husband I have chosen, he is not your concern."

D'Artoi got up from his seat on the sofa, fuming. "You'll do as I say, you little wench," he yelled, grabbing her left arm. "You'll give that poor excuse for a diamond back to your poor excuse for a man, and you'll get your butt to Latrec's, begging him to take you in."

"I'm afraid, father," Danielle hissed, as she pulled herself free of his grasp, "that you are mistaken. I love the man who gave me this ring, and I won't part with it, or him."

"Then your _husband_," he spat the word, "will just have to be content to share you with another man."

"It isn't likely that he'll have to," Danielle declared in frigid tones. "No one could persuade me to betray him."

"I wonder what your poor, unfortunate mother would say if she knew you were refusing to obey your father," he asked. "Do you think she would be pleased that you value some stranger over your own family?"

"He is no stranger," Danielle exclaimed. "He has been better to me than you or Luc ever have."

"Oh, I'm sure," Jean shot at her, obviously implying something immoral, "but he isn't your blood. You don't owe him anything."

"Yes, I do! I owe him my unwavering loyalty."

"Whatever he's done to deserve your loyalty, it can't be as just as our claim on you," he whispered dangerously. "He didn't lose his wife or mother because of you."

He had gone too far, and he knew it. Her resolve was weakening. His argument did have its strong points, she had to admit. She had cost her family a vital part of it, a part that could never be replaced.

"Do you think that I was this cold-hearted when Adele was still alive," Jean continued. "I used to be very warm. That's why she married me in the first place. No, it was only after her tragic death that I became what I am. _You_ made me this way."

For a moment, Danielle's reeling mind considered this new point of view. Yes, she had made him this way. If she had never been born, he wouldn't be so cruel. She had twisted his soul, damaged his heart forever. It was her fault. All her fault.

"No," she screamed, shaking herself out of the mind set that had almost made her give up. "I'm not responsible for you. You could have chosen to love me, but you chose to hate me. I won't pay anymore for what I couldn't control."

"You were always the most bothersome, little pipsqueak," D'Atroi sneered. "I told the midwife to let you die and save Adele. She would have, too, but Adele wouldn't have it. The midwife offered Adele her life, but she decided to give you yours."

Danielle felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. This was a brand new revelation that had never occurred to her.

"She knew she would die," Danielle whispered frantically. "She knew she could have been saved?"

"She did," he answered gruffly. "Now do you see what you owe her?"

But Danielle wasn't paying him any attention. Her mind was working at a furious pace. Her mother had chosen death. She could have chosen to live, but she chose to die. _For me_, Danielle thought to herself, everything finally becoming clear, as if dawn had broken after a long, dark night.

"I don't owe you anything," she said fiercely. "My mother sacrificed herself. It isn't my fault. She chose to die so I could live, not so you could make me your slave," Danielle spat venomously. "She wanted me to be happy. I will _not _give up my happiness so you can put a few more francs in your pocket. If you want more money, you'll just have to tell Luc to find work because you'll get nothing more from me. Get out. I don't ever want to see either of you again," she yelled, pointing toward the door.

When D'Artoi didn't budge, Danielle ran to the door and started calling for help. Men came running from all over the building. Even the managers came thundering down the halls when they learned that the commotion was coming from the prima donna's dressing-room.

All she had to do was ask that her father be removed from the premises, and that neither he, nor her brother, were ever to be admitted to the Populaire again. They were practically falling all over themselves to do as she requested. They didn't make any promises with regards to Mathieu Latrec, but she felt certain that he could be handled easily if it came to that.

Danielle was sure of one thing: she was finally free. Free from her father and brother, and free from the guilt that had been hanging over her head for years. Danielle was, for perhaps the first time, able to live with no sense of shame. She had done what she knew was right, and she had been richly rewarded for it. She had Erik.

Within days, all of Paris learned of her ordeal, how she had stood up against corruption that her own father tried to foist upon her. It made a sensational story, and people cheered her even more for her virtue. But who, the papers all asked, was the fortunate man who had won her heart?

That question was settled very soon. When Danielle requested a few weeks away from the opera for her honeymoon, the managers were delighted to hear that she was going to marry the mysterious composer, Octavian Gautier. They went into ecstasies when she mentioned casually that he had written an opera especially for her. Firmin and Andre assured her quite enthusiastically that they would give her the whole run of the next production off, and pay her a small pittance to boot. She would, of course, be expected to sing in a concert they had scheduled during the run, but that would give her the perfect chance to display some of the music her fiancé had written for her. They were deliriously happy for her (but mostly for themselves, though they didn't say so).

Once Danielle had left them with that information to chew on, the news of her betrothal to Octavian Gautier was leaked to the press. Shortly afterward all of the Parisian elite were celebrating such an artful union. They would continue to hear Danielle's glorious voice and Gautier's masterpieces, but coupled with harmonious perfection. Gautier's music, designed for Danielle, would show off her talent famously, while she would, no doubt, prove to be an inspiring muse for her husband. Yes, it was a happy day for the world of music.

**A/N: This is a short chapter, but at least it is chock-full of fluffy E/OW goodness. There is only a chapter or two left, so stay with me for a little while longer.**


	24. Chapter Twenty Four: Adam and Eve

**Disclaimer: I still don't own _The Phantom of the Opera_, but if I did, I would make Erik regret it. He would never get any rest because I would insist that he spend all of his time singing to me or giving me voice lessons. **

**A/N: Here it is. The last chapter of Dreams. It's been a long, beautiful ride. I'd like to thank all of my wonderful reviewers, and everyone who read but didn't review. I may do a few one-shots that continue the story, but there won't be a sequel. I don't think I could do it justice. There will probably be a revised, too. My next story will be a Labyrinth fic. If you don't know what Labyrinth is, do yourself a favor and find on DVD. Yes, it's a puppet movie, but it has David Bowie. Look out for my updates, people. I will be back, God willing and the creak don't rise. Yes, I am from the American South. **

Chapter Twenty-Four: Lessons Learned from Adam and Eve

The next few weeks were spent in a flurry of planning. Danielle needed a dress, they needed to find a Protestant church, and Marie absolutely insisted the moment she was informed of their upcoming marriage that Danielle and Erik had to live apart, at all costs, until after the wedding. She was delighted that they were going to be married and happy, but, for propriety's sake, they could not sleep under the same roof. Erik, angered by the insinuations that came with this proposal, refused to be forced away from Danielle because of "an old woman's prudery." Unfortunately for him, Danielle agreed with Marie.

"Now that we have a _romantic_ relationship, it wouldn't be right for us to continue living together as long as we are unmarried," she reasoned. "Before, I was your student, your friend, a sort of ward, but now I'm your _fiancé_. That particular role is vastly different from the others."

"But I'm not trying to take advantage of you," Erik declared hotly.

"No one says you are," Danielle said, laying a sympathetic hand on his arm. "We just shouldn't risk any temptation," she whispered, hoping Marie and Nadir couldn't hear from the other room in Erik's lair.

"Temptation," Erik spluttered, obviously not sharing her desire for privacy. There was no doubt that Marie and Nadir had heard that inopportune outburst.

"Temptation," Danielle affirmed with a beguiling smile that made _Erik_ blush. It was actually very adorable to see his face, ears, and neck redden like that. _There's a guilty conscience in there, somewhere_, Danielle thought to herself, watching his reaction.

Erik was much quieter when he, hurt by what he took as an implication of less than honorable intentions on his part, assured her, "I wouldn't be tempted to do anything you wouldn't be willing to do; you know that."

"I wasn't talking about _your_ temptation only, Erik," Danielle stated wryly.

"Your temptation," Erik muttered with raised eyebrows, staggered by the idea. It had certainly never crossed his mind that she would…he had never expected her to…it had never occurred to him that she would actually want…He couldn't even think it. It was too hard to believe, he couldn't even put it into words. She was probably only saying this to mollify him, so he tried not to pay attention to the way his stomach churned.

"My temptation," Danielle asserted, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, twining her fingers in his hair, and gave him a kiss he would not soon forget.

They were both startled by the sound of a throat being cleared close by. They broke apart and awkwardly eyed the two people standing in the doorway of the study. Marie's eyelids were closed firmly, as if in a silent prayer for strength, though no one could be quite sure whose strength she was praying for, hers or theirs. Nadir, leaning against the doorpost, was making a valiant attempt not to laugh at the couple. Erik and Danielle had the grace to look mildly embarrassed by being caught in such a position, though Erik looked more annoyed than anything else.

"Temptation," Marie declared resolutely.

In the end, it was decided that Danielle would get a hotel room, and Marie would stay with her to chaperone. They couldn't both fit in Marie's quarters, and having Danielle in the opera house unattended was just like letting her live with Erik because of his infernal passageways. Erik, of course, insisted on paying for the hotel and all of their room service. He also told them that money was no object once they went to a dressmaker. He wanted his bride to look ravishing, though she could have come wearing rags and still manage it.

Marie and Danielle did as he told them. Danielle wanted something simple. Marie secretly wanted Danielle to spend as much of Erik's money as she could, but was quite convinced after seeing Danielle in the dress she favored. It was nicely form-fitting, with slightly puffed off-the-shoulder sleeves. Marie noticed with some amusement that the bodice revealed just a hint of bosom, which was more than Danielle had ever exposed before. Marie was momentarily tempted to comment on this, but thought better of it. The material was a beautiful, pure white, a fitting tribute to her famed chastity. Danielle's veil was so thick with lace, it was almost impossible to distinguish her features behind the blusher.

They brought all of their purchases back to their temporary dwelling. Night was falling as the two women packed everything away. The wedding was tomorrow, and all of the arrangements were made. Danielle was surprisingly calm as she stared out the window of their room at the starry sky. Marie thought that she should probably leave the bride-to-be to herself for a while. This was her last night as a maiden. In less than twenty-four hours she would be at home with her husband, and her independence would be at an end.

Danielle was dreamily humming to herself, toying with the curtain, when she heard a grunt below her. Confused, she looked down to find a man climbing the wall towards her. She was thinking of screaming when the man turned his face upwards. _Erik_. _I should have known_.

Once, he was nearly within reach, Danielle held out her arm to him. He took it gratefully, and hauled himself through her window.

"I see the element of surprise is gone," Erik stated before wrapping his arms around her. "How long until your bodyguard gets back?"

"I don't know," Danielle said with a laugh. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you," Erik purred, lightly kissing her neck.

"Erik," Danielle whispered, trying to ignore him but failing dismally, "Marie could be back any second."

"I'm already back," Marie called from the doorway.

Erik snarled in exasperation. "Good evening, Marie," he muttered, turning to face her.

"This is a ladies' bedroom, Erik," Marie informed him. "You should not be here. It isn't decent, so be on your way."

"I did come here for another reason," Erik said to Danielle, staying right where he was. "I needed to bring you my wedding ring, and I wanted to give you something," he added mysteriously.

"Don't you think you've given me enough," Danielle asked, looking at him adoringly.

"Nothing would ever be enough," Erik whispered seriously. He handed her the box containing his wedding band, and pulled another, longer box from his jacket pocket. He opened it to reveal a string of cultured pearls.

"Oh, Erik," Danielle gasped. "They're perfect. Thank you."

Erik took the necklace from its box and fastened them around her neck. "I thought so. You can't tell how bewildered that jeweler was to see Octavian Gautier back in his shop."

Danielle hugged him, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Well, you've done what you came to do," Marie stated impatiently. "Now leave."

"Wait," Danielle exclaimed, "Erik, stay a minute. Would you," she asked with a false attitude of timidity, "sing me to sleep again?"

Erik looked to Marie for permission, not that he wasn't going to stay anyway. She nodded her head, a slight twinkle in her eye that gave away her stern façade. Erik led Danielle to the bed, sitting beside her, an arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against his chest, waiting for him to begin. Erik sang the same song he had sung to her all those months ago when they had been in similar positions.

Marie watched them with a tear in her eye, a smile stretching muscles that were unused to the act. It was so good to see them together. They loved each other so much it was hard to believe that either had ever been as lonely as she knew they once were. She could see that Danielle trusted Erik implicitly, and Erik would have done anything to prove that her faith was well-founded. Erik finished his song, and Danielle was already sound asleep. Erik, paying no attention to the other woman in the room, lifted Danielle's hand to his lips and planted a gentle, but fervent, kiss there.

"Erik," Marie called lightly, "might I have a word with you in the other room?"

Erik got to his feet, lingering ever so slightly over Danielle's peaceful form before following Marie into the sitting room. Marie took a seat in a chair facing the settee, which Erik chose to occupy.

"I can see that you love her," Marie began, "but there are some questions I feel I must put to you before I can feel truly satisfied about this marriage."

"I don't see why your opinion is a concern," Erik growled.

"I must know. Erik, do you love her more than Christine?"

"Christine," Erik asked, a little surprised that Marie would bring that up all of a sudden. "Of course I love her more than Christine," he said incredulously, as if merely stating the obvious. "Christine was a dream. Danielle is a reality."

"But if Christine would, of her own free will, choose to come back to you," Marie questioned desperately, "would you still marry Danielle, forgetting about the woman you once loved?"

"I would choose Danielle without a moment's hesitation," Erik assured her, "and I would never regret my decision. Christine is nothing compared to Danielle. Danielle is mentally stimulating, talented, strong-willed…she's not just an innocent, delicate flower. She is perfect, or at least very nearly so. Christine was a beautiful and sweet, but she was a child. Danielle is a woman. She and I have infinitely more in common."

Marie was highly relieved that he had taken such a sensible and mature view on the subject. It would have been horrible if he had held onto his fixation with Christine when he had a woman who loved him right in front of him. It would have broken Danielle's heart if she discovered that Erik loved someone else more than her.

"Besides," Erik interrupted her thoughts, "I've seen Christine, and I didn't care about her at all."

"You've seen Christine," Marie asked, startled.

"She and her husband came to see Danielle after a performance once," Erik mentioned casually without a trace of bitterness, as if it made no difference to him at all. In fact, it didn't.

"What happened?"

"The Vicomte decided to inform Danielle that she was studying under a monster," Erik said smugly. "Danielle informed _him_ that she thought differently. He told her all he knew about me, but she said she had already gathered as much. She even convinced them to leave us alone. She was marvelous."

"She didn't care about what you had done," Marie asked breathlessly.

"Not at all," Erik told her proudly. "When we got back home, I made a full confession. I told her everything about my past before I met her. She told me none of it mattered. She doesn't even care about my _face_."

Marie was astonished by Danielle once again. It didn't surprise her that Danielle took no notice of Erik's deformity, but to be completely unconcerned about his disturbing, even violent, past was strange, to say the least. Of course, Marie knew that Erik would never dream of hurting her, particularly since she was more than willing to stay with him forever, but most women would at least be a little afraid of him. Danielle really was a strong woman.

"Do we have your blessing," Erik inquired sardonically.

"Of course," Marie practically shouted with delight. "Oh, Erik, you are certainly lucky to have her."

"I know, Marie," Erik whispered. "I know."

The next morning, a coach was waiting for Danielle and Marie. It would take them to a little church just outside of Paris where a pastor would join Erik and Danielle in marriage. Danielle was jittery as she climbed into the back, arranging her wedding dress so it wouldn't wrinkle. As they bumped along, Danielle threw anxious glances out the window, wondering if she would be ill.

"Don't look so worried," Marie reassured her. "This is a happy day."

"I know, Marie," Danielle said with a tiny, uneasy smile. "I'm just so nervous! What if I do something wrong?"

"It's a very simple ceremony. Nothing will go wrong."

"I wasn't talking about the ceremony," Danielle admitted.

"You will make a wonderful wife. Erik will be very happy with you."

"I didn't mean as a wife," she blurted.

"What did you mean, dear?"

Apparently Danielle couldn't say. She just blushed and looked back out the window, not meeting Marie's eyes.

"Oh, I see," Marie said with a knowing smile. "You mean as a lover."

"Marie," Danielle whispered, shocked by her use of the word, no matter how accurate.

"You shouldn't worry about that, either, Danielle. People make love all the time, and they obviously enjoy it. It's instinctive."

Danielle blushed some more, but looked a little less worried. She even smiled a little shyly, as she met Marie's eyes again.

"You don't think I'm wicked, do you?"

"Of course not, Danielle," Marie told her. "I do have a daughter, you know, and I didn't make her by myself."

The coach shuddered to a stop. The driver helped Danielle and Marie down. Marie helped Danielle fasten her veil securely, and kissed her cheek before letting the blusher fall over Danielle's face.

Inside the church, Erik was pacing, just as nervous as Danielle. Nadir had long given up trying to calm him. The pastor looked amused. He had thought Erik odd when he had first met him, but now he saw that he behaved as any man would on his wedding day – like a jumpy fool.

The unmistakable sound of the coach stopping made Erik blanch. Suddenly he seemed to be having trouble breathing. It looked like he was about to bolt until the doors opened. Marie Giry hastened down the aisle to stand beside Nadir. Danielle lingered in the doorway a moment.

Erik stopped searching for the best exit and stared, his mouth hanging wide open. Danielle was bathed in sunlight, giving her the ethereal appearance of some otherworldly creature. The veil obscuring her face made Erik mad with curiosity. In that moment, she seemed mysterious and inscrutable. He wanted to learn all of her secrets. Once again he blushed. He vaguely thought that he shouldn't be thinking things like that in a church as Danielle started down the aisle.

She couldn't believe her good fortune, as she walked toward the altar. Erik's clothing was as polished as ever, but she could see that he wasn't so unruffled. It was so sweet to watch the almost goofy smile appear on his face. She knew that she should want the ceremony to last a long time, but all she wanted to do was get home.

When Danielle got to the end of the aisle, Erik raised her veil with trembling hands. She was already crying, but smiling as if she'd never been so happy in her life. Erik started to cry, too. In a daze, they vowed to love, honor, obey, and cleave only unto the other till death did they part. The pastor declared them man and wife, but they didn't wait for permission to kiss. Erik only came back to himself when they were leaving the church, and getting into the coach that would take them home.

"Did we just get married," he asked her, choking.

"Oh, Erik," Danielle laughed, throwing her arms around him. Erik held her face with his newly beringed left hand, and kissed all of her tears away, as new ones threatened to fall.

Erik was grinning like an idiot when they finally got back to the lair. They ate in a distracted manner, both giggling whenever they caught the other one staring. This happened often, so it was late when they finished. Erik took Danielle by the hand and led her to the study. He shed his jacket and vest, and then picked up his violin.

"I wrote this for you while you were staying with Marie," he said, fitting the bow to the strings. "I needed some distraction. It was very boring without you."

The melody he played was, as always, very haunting, but there was something very romantic about it. It had that quality of dark romance that was often found in compositions by Liszt. Danielle's blood was pounding in her ears as the music sent her into a trance much like the one she had experienced the night she had first come to Erik's – now her – home.

Erik watched her lean back against the sofa, fighting the urge to lick his lips. Who knew that the simple rise and fall of her chest could send shivers up his spine? He couldn't take his eyes off her as she watched him play. Her beauty was unearthly as she sat there, still in her wedding dress, her eyes half closed. He was finally able to glance in another direction when the song came to an end.

Danielle got up as Erik put away his violin, and floated toward him. It certainly felt like she was walking on clouds. He faced her, his eyes filled with barely controlled longing, and she kissed him, trying to take away that look that broke her heart and melted it all at once.

Erik was so preoccupied with her mouth that he didn't notice what her hands were doing until they had freed half of his shirt buttons from their buttonholes. He pulled away as if she'd burned him, gripping her shoulders, holding her away from him. She looked stunned and hurt. Erik knew he had to explain why he had done this before he lost all his strength.

"Danielle, you know I don't expect anything from you," he said, his eyes on the floor. "I know that you probably think that I'm entitled…as your husband, but I would never consider that my right. I will understand perfectly if you refuse. I want your happiness above all selfish…pleasures." Somehow he couldn't avoid that suggestive word; it was the only really accurate one to describe what he was talking about.

"Erik, of course you're entitled to it," Danielle assured him, bringing his face up to meet her eyes. "It would be a sin to deny you."

"You shouldn't think like that," Erik muttered. "Don't think of it as denying me. Think of it as doing what is best for me."

"What do you mean," Danielle asked, bewildered. "Are you…are you saying you don't want me?"

"Of course, I'm not saying that," Erik stuttered. "I'm just saying that I don't know if I could handle the rest of my life knowing what I'm missing."

"What you're missing," Danielle repeated, confused. Then it dawned on her what he meant. "Wait, you think I mean to…consummate…our marriage, and then never…again?"

Erik's downcast attitude was all she needed be sure this was exactly what he thought she was planning.

"I don't know whether to laugh, or strike you," Danielle said, offended. "You must have a very low opinion of me if you think I would treat you like that."

This frightened Erik. Clearly, she didn't understand at all.

"I _love_ you," Danielle continued before he could interrupt. "I want to be your wife, your _true_ wife, not just once, but every night," she added, leaning in to press her cheek against him neck.

Erik's mind was on fire. Was she saying that she actually _wanted_ him? He didn't know how much more of this he could.

"I don't deserve you," Erik muttered. "Surely it would be more sinful to give yourself to a man like me than to refuse him?"

"God gave woman to man for a reason," she whispered into his neck.

"Woman also tempted man into his downfall," Erik countered, smiling down at her.

"He knew Eve would give Adam that fruit, yet he created her anyway," Danielle rejoined, smiling as well. "God didn't want man to be alone." Her expression became more earnest. "Surely if God felt that Adam, the first man to sin, deserved a wife, wouldn't He think the same of you? You need a wife as much as Adam did, Erik."

Erik couldn't argue with her logic. Perhaps she was right. She did know more about theology than he did, after all.

It took only a moment's consideration. He drew her as close to him as he could, and kissed her with all he had, then picked her up, giggling. Their destination was obvious: his bedroom. He kicked it open, and then, before entering it, he lifted his eye upward, as if to Heaven, and whispered, "Thank you."

He carried her over the threshold, and pulled the door closed with his foot.

**A/N: About Erik asking if they had just gotten married. My cousin got married in October, and when they left the church to go to the reception, he actually said, "Are we married?" I thought it was really funny and sweet in a dopey kind of way.**

**A/N: I really agonized over how I was going to end this. I knew I couldn't talk about what happened after they closed the door. My own modesty wouldn't have allowed it. I couldn't decide if I wanted to even go past the coach taking them home, or if I wanted to end it there. I thought that Erik might have a few issues concerning the wedding night, so I wanted to resolve them, but I wasn't sure how. I hope I did it well. One of the reasons I love Erik so much is how sexually innocent he was in the book by Leroux. I mean a kiss on the forehead made him weep! How sweet is that? I just wanted to kiss his brains out. Anyway, enough about my fantasies. I hope I gave someone out there a few moments of entertainment with this story, and maybe even a little inspiration. Songstressgirl07 out.**


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